


Sense of Doubt

by Reginalivesagain



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Awkward First Time, Comedy, Draco and Harry do parenting, Draco plays cello, Eventual Happy Ending, Evil Narcissa, Fluff and Angst, Godfather Harry Potter, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Maternal Molly Weasley, Sassy Draco, Sassy Harry, Soft Draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 00:22:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 240,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13647501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reginalivesagain/pseuds/Reginalivesagain
Summary: The battle is over, but a war is still waging inside Harry. The normal life he dreamed of is not what he thought it would be and the Weasley home is becoming less welcoming each day. Unsure of what he wants, things begin to sour around him. As much as he thought he loved Ginny, he's beginning to realise that perhaps they aren't well-matched. As if things weren't confusing enough, he gets a letter. He's invited to stand witness at Draco's final hearing. Will he go? If he does, what will happen after?





	1. Weasley Woes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome, dear readers! A bit of an explanation, here. This is a fic written by two authors. We have worked together to write this story for you for a loooong time. Months, in fact.
> 
> In advance I’d like to write a trigger warning here. This will be the only trigger warning offered throughout the story, so take heed. This story includes descriptions of violence, adult language, and sexual content. This fic is rated M for a reason, so read at your own discretion.
> 
> Disclaimer: we do not own anything about this except the plot. All characters are owned by JK Rowling and Warner Bros.

A loud, metallic crash sounded from several floors below, causing Harry to jolt awake in his too-small bed. Groaning sleepily, he sat up and stretched his arms toward the slanted ceiling, rolling his head back and forth slowly as he allowed his sleep-fogged eyes to adjust to being open. He sighed as another slam of metal and Molly’s irritated voice echoed up to the room he shared with Ron, who was probably already downstairs with Hermione. After staying here as many times as he had in the past several years one would think he’d be accustomed to all the loudness that was the Weasley family, especially early in the morning. This, however, was not the case. He supposed it was partially because of the tension that had begun to fill The Burrow since the end of the war, which was such a short two months before. Coming back to normalcy was proving to be more difficult than anyone had hoped it would be. He and Ginny had been bickering a lot, which had made Ron more awkward to be around. Hermione was not taking sides, but Harry could tell she felt uncomfortable, too. The whole family was grieving over a lost son, along with countless lost friends. Harry and Hermione were grieving, too. Journalists were begging for interviews and public appearances. So much was happening, and nobody had had much time to recover. All anyone could do was take things one day at a time. 

“Harry, dear!” Molly called from below. “Breakfast! 

Harry debated whether or not he should change from his pyjamas before heading down to the crowded kitchen, and feeling as though it might add a diversion from his routine, he decided not to. Placing his glasses on his face and slipping on his night shoes, Harry opened the door to Ron’s bedroom to find Ginny standing just outside it with her hands fisted into her hips.

“Took you long enough,” she said with a slight prickle in her tone. Harry’s brows furrowed, his brain not awake enough for an argument this early in the morning. 

“Love you, too,” he mumbled half-sarcastically as he pecked her cheek and passed by her towards the stairs. Ginny was apparently not satisfied with the chaste kiss being all he gave her, her arms snaking around his waist from behind was proof of that. 

“Harry,” she stage-whispered admonishingly when he didn’t turn around. Holding his breath, he did as he knew she wanted him to and faced her, looking down at her arched, ginger eyebrows that were the cherry-on-top of her disgruntled expression. “I was hoping for a better good-morning kiss than that.” 

“Your mum will get mad if we don’t head down for breakfast soon, Ginny.” And right on cue, Molly called for both of them that time. Ginny released Harry with a scoff and a light stamp of her foot. Silently, Harry thanked Molly for the interruption, though he didn’t want to analyze why that was too deeply at that moment. Instead, he focused on identifying the smells coming from the kitchen, even if he already knew that eggs, sausage, and toast was the only thing on the menu. He hoped that coffee would be, too, but he knew that money was tight for the Weasleys even more than usual and coffee hadn’t been served with breakfast or otherwise in over two weeks. 

Upon entering the kitchen, Harry ducked his head quickly as an owl swooped in right over him, pausing only to drop a stack of letters into the bowl of scrambled eggs on the table before dipping its wings and swooping back out. Harry recognized the owl as one belonging to Hogwarts and inwardly cringed at the pile he knew were invitations for Ron, Hermione, and him to return for an eighth and final year of school, along with Ginny’s seventh year requirements. 

“Bird’s shat in the eggs, mum,” George said in a flat tone. Perhaps, Harry considered, the joking was his coping mechanism. “Morning, Harry,” George added with a nod towards the raven-haired wizard standing in the doorway. 

“Watch your mouth!” Molly warned with narrowed eyes. She looked from George to the now egg-dipped letters. “Mangy bird…” With a flick of her wand, the letters were out of the scrambled eggs and swerving through the thick kitchen air towards each of their recipients. Harry caught his between his forefinger and middle, and sat down at the table beside Ron. Not caring in the least about what the letter said, he tucked it under his thigh and promptly forgot about it as he loaded his plate with a much smaller portion of food than he would’ve preferred. 

“Mum, how are we going to afford all these books?” Ginny asked as she gaped at her letter. 

“I’m sure your brothers have some you can borrow for the year, dearest.” Molly looked weary standing at the kitchen sink, even though the dishes were doing themselves. House work aside, there was a lot else that was weighing on the woman, and Harry couldn’t help but feel guilty that he might be one of those things causing her distress. 

“Morning,” Harry addressed the table. Arthur nodded to Harry without looking up from the Prophet he held in his hands and almost everyone else repeated it in turn. Hermione was avidly reading her letter and had not heard him. There was the faintest hint of a satisfied smile playing at the corners of her lips, and Harry thought she was very glad that she would be able to finish where she left off before everything had happened. 

“I don’t like that look she’s got, mate,” Ron whispered to Harry. “She’s going to try and force us, you know.” Harry swallowed the eggs he’d been chewing for too long before he responded.

“She can’t force us, Ron,” he pointed out. “She’s just going to try to s’all.” 

“Right. Well, you might be safe. She’s not _your_ girlfriend.” Harry didn’t think he’d ever see Ron look jealous at that fact for the rest of his life, and that made him chuckle. “But since Ginny’s going back, maybe you will too?”

Shrugging, Harry returned his attention to his plate of food. He wasn’t really sure what he wanted to do in the near future. All he knew for sure was that he did not want to return to the place where he’d almost died, and had seen so many people kill and be killed. No, he wouldn’t do that at all. Harry shook his head without meaning to as he realised that this would cause another argument between him and Ginny. In recent weeks their disputes had become more and more intense, and he couldn’t help but feel hopeful for her return to school. Perhaps a break from each other was what they needed, he thought. She probably wouldn’t agree with that. As it was, she hadn’t looked at him the entire time they’d been in the kitchen, and ignored him still when Harry got up from the table to rinse his plate in the sink. 

_Fresh air,_ Harry thought suddenly, the heat of a tightly packed kitchen and cooked food getting to him. The quiet that being outside would bring with it was also incredibly welcoming just then. Harry thanked Molly for the breakfast and was given a warm smile and a pat on the shoulder before he left the kitchen and headed for the front porch. It hadn’t gone unnoticed by him that the smile hadn’t reached Molly’s eyes, but he figured that it was not his place to mention it. 

Sitting on the warped and paint-chipped bench swing, Harry looked out at the surrounding yard and unkempt garden. He watched a little gnome chase after a butterfly and wondered when things would feel better. He was back in the familiarity of the Burrow, yet he felt out of place, and he knew that it was mostly because of the changes that had inevitably been brought about due to the war. Being a hero didn’t feel as good as he’d thought it would. He felt an emptiness in his soul, and he couldn’t pinpoint exactly why that was. Maybe it was the piece of Voldemort that had died in him when the man━if he could be called that━had died, but Harry thought it was something else, too. He didn’t have much time to consider it, however, before the front door swung open beside him and Ginny stepped out. Harry forced a smile onto his lips at his girlfriend, whose hair was gleaming in the morning sun. She returned the smile to him and crossed the small porch to sit beside him, taking his hand in hers. 

“Harry, I wanted to talk to you about this year,” she started softly, looking up at him with sweet brown eyes. For being one of the feistiest Gryffindors he’d ever met, she sure did know how to appear the innocent maiden. 

“Yeah? What did you want to say about it?” He tried to make himself sound curious, but even to him the question came out flat; he was already aware of what she was about to say.

“It’s just━you’re coming back to school, right?” Harry stared at her for too long without an answer. The silence stretched and her shoulders slumped as her sweet look turned into a sour one and her hand tightened painfully around his. “Really, Harry?”

“What’s the point? It’s not like I’d be missing anything.” Bloody hell, he thought as he saw his mistake in saying that. The expression of utter ferocity on her face was enough to tell him he’d royally fucked up with that statement. 

“Except your _girlfriend!”_ she shouted. “Or am I not important enough to be missed? I’m certainly not important enough for you to show any affection to.” The same argument of him not being affectionate enough towards her popped up once again, and Harry tried his best not to clench his teeth in frustration.

“Ginny, you know how your parents feel about that,” he reasoned. “I don’t feel comfortable doing… things that you’d like me to… here.” A lame finish, he knew, but the truth all the same. Well, perhaps not the whole truth, as he was omitting the very important fact that he didn’t feel comfortable doing ‘those things’ with her anywhere, though he didn’t understand why. ‘Those things’ should come naturally to him, but for some reason they didn’t. 

“Harry, I’d like it if _you’d_ like to do those things too.” She was becoming more aggravated with each response he uttered, and he thought now might be a good time to shut up completely. When he didn’t say anything, she rolled her eyes and withdrew her hand from his. “It feels like every time I try to kiss you or cuddle with you, or get close to you at all, you just push me away. How do you think that makes me feel?” 

“I haven’t been pushing you away! I’ve been respecting the boundaries your parents have asked me to, and I don’t think that’s wrong of me.” Ginny shook her head and hummed angrily.

“Please come back to school, Harry.” Her voice had gone quiet again, but was still adamant. Harry wished she could understand, without him having to explain, why it was he felt the way he did about returning to Hogwarts. 

“I can’t,” he whispered, wondering if this could be the breaking point in their already strained relationship. 

“What does that mean for us?” she asked, looking away from him. From the waver in her voice, Harry could tell she was on the brink of tears, and he felt like he should reach out to her, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “You should focus on school, Ginny. We’ve been fighting so much lately, and with everything that’s going on…” He didn’t know how to finish that sentence, he realised half way through. 

“You’re breaking up with me.” It wasn’t a question, and Harry had no clue if that’s what was actually happening. 

“No, I’m not.” Harry ran his hand through his hair, letting it linger on his eyes momentarily. “I’m not breaking up with you, but… I don’t know.” Harry felt like he could answer every question anyone asked him for the rest of his life with ‘I don’t know,’ at this point. Nothing was clear anymore. The path that had been laid out for him since the day his parents died to protect him had vanished the second he’d won the war, and ever since that moment he hadn’t the slightest idea what to do about much at all. 

Ginny turned back to face him, a fire blazing in her eyes that Harry had seen many times before, but never as full of heat as it was now. “Then I’m breaking up with you,” she said, and then set her lips in a tight line. Tears streamed from her eyes and Harry knew that she meant it. Not much of him wanted to argue with her decision, and he wasn’t sure if the part of him that did only wanted to out of necessity. 

“You don’t really mean that, do you?” Ginny stood up quickly and stepped closer to him.

“Of course I don’t want that, Harry,” she said in a pleading voice. “Can’t you see I want you? It’s becoming painfully obvious that the feeling is not mutual.”

“Just because I won’t come back to school?” He was getting really sick of everyone trying to force things onto him. His whole life had been obligations and requirements and prophecies with little room in the way of making his own choices. For once he’d like to say ‘yes,’ or ‘no,’ without being reprimanded for his decision. At the same time, now that he technically had that freedom he didn’t know what to do with it, and it was somewhat terrifying. 

“No, Harry. It’s more than that. But if you can’t see what it is, then this conversation is pointless.” Before Harry could respond Ginny was storming through the door, letting it slam behind her. If anyone had overheard their fight, the only sign they showed was in the eerie quiet that had fallen over the tilting house. For the first time in two months the Burrow was silent.

<>

_It’s fucking cold. It’s so fucking cold._ Draco couldn’t seem to get the thought from his head as he lay on the stone floor of his cell. He tried to remind himself that he only had one trial left, but it didn’t help. That one trial was not going to save him. That one trial was going to ensure that he was kept here for the rest of his life. No, there were no Dementors. Not anymore; Shacklebolt had done away with them shortly after the war had finished. It didn’t help the cold, though, which seemed to consume Draco no matter what he did. He wasn’t even sure what day it was anymore, or how long he had until his last trial. 

At first, Draco had tried to pace his cell, jog, do jumping jacks and pushups, any sort of workout just to stay warm, but after so long that proved pointless. With the little food he was getting in Azkaban it was unwise to waste all the nutrients on exercise, even if it did keep the chill at bay. In the distance he could hear a woman shouting at one of the Auror guards about the unfairness of it all and how she’s a proper lady who shouldn’t be held here. She said it was inhumane. Draco had heard her voice before, and he was almost certain that it belonged to Dolores Umbridge. The Auror told her to shut her ungrateful mouth and be glad they hadn’t offed her instead. Then a gust of wind blew frigid water up and over the rocks surrounding the prison, flooding into Draco’s cell. 

Scrambling away from the ice water, Draco stood and climbed onto his small cot. His teeth chattered against each other as the water slowly leaked back outside, leaving an even colder air to Draco’s cell. _This has to end,_ he thought. _I can’t live like this forever._

Boots slapped wet stone and the sound became louder as they got closer. Draco hoped that the Auror approaching his cell was bringing food, but he had a very strong feeling that this wasn’t the case. Surely enough, when the guard was visible through the bars Draco recognized him as one who had a tendency to be violent towards the inmates, himself included. He was not holding food.

“Malfoy,” the Auror barked. Draco flinched away from the harsh words, feeling as though they were tangible. “ _Malfoy!_ When I speak to you you answer!” 

“Y-yes sir,” Draco said as he found his voice. 

“Was that backtalk I heard?”

“No, no I would never.” Shame flooded his entire being as he bent and bowed to the guard on his hands and knees. He knew the only reason he did was for fear of being beaten, but it still gave him a sick feeling in his gut. A Malfoy kneeling to anyone was disgraceful. 

“That’s funny, because I think that sounded quite like backtalk to me,” he said as he unlocked the many chains keeping the cell inescapable. Draco’s breath picked up and with each chain that clattered to the stone floor he felt his muscles tensing further, something that was even more painful due to the cold that seemed to penetrate his entire body. 

“Please,” Draco begged. “Please don’t…” But there would be no avoiding the Auror’s wrath. Not this time, and perhaps never again. The man tsked as he stepped closer to Draco’s cowering and shaking form.

“Now now, you know begging has never worked. You’ve earned every bit of punishment you’ve received here, you filthy fucking Death Eater.” On the word ‘death’ a thick, leather, steel-toe boot landed swiftly in Draco’s side, cracking one of his ribs. Draco screamed in agony, but this didn’t lessen the pain of the oncoming blows. “ _You killed my sister!_ You disgust me!” 

“I-I didn’t━” The wind was knocked out of him and his denial was ended by yet another kick, this time to his face. 

“Don’t give me your pathetic excuses, you’re guilty and you’ll pay for the things you did!” 

And so it went, for longer than Draco knew. By the end of the Auror’s assault he was broken in several places and bleeding from even more. As the last chain was locked and the out of breath Auror retreated, probably to beat another inmate, Draco’s cell was flooded by another wave of ice water, and he thought he’d rather die than spend another day in misery. Even death seemed to have a grudge against him, though; there were no sharp stones to end his suffering, no ropes from which he could hang himself. All he had was the cold, hard ground and his waning consciousness to ease his pain. 

<>

It had been three days since Ginny’s supposed break up with Harry. Even though she had said she was done with him, there were signs that she was not. One of those signs was that Ginny had begun debating the boundaries Molly and Arthur had laid out between Ginny and Harry, loudly. Harry had walked in on one of those arguments just that morning and his face had gone scarlet at what Ginny was saying. 

“I’m an adult, and I should be able to do what I want with Harry!” she’d shouted at her parents. Arthur looked disturbed and Molly roller her eyes. George, who sat at the table, nearly choked on his sandwich at Ginny’s words.

“And we’re your parents, so as long as you stay under our roof, you’ll do as we say! No sex! It’s final, there is no getting around this, Ginevra. I’m embarrassed that you’d even feel the need to debate this rule. I don’t know how many more times I can tell you this, but you know how your father and I feel about sex before marriage. Until you and Harry are married, there will be no fooling around in this house!” Molly turned at the sound of the kitchen door swinging open and gasped softly as she noticed Harry. Ginny looked over too, and her jaw dropped at the sight of him. “Harry, dear. How convenient that you’re here. Don’t you think that’s a fair rule?” Molly pleaded with her eyes, but it was unnecessary. 

“I do. This is your house and you’ve been kind enough to let me stay in it, even though…” No, he wouldn’t change the topic to finances. They were probably embarrassed enough about their lack of funds without his mentioning it. “I think any rules you and Arthur give us should be followed.” Harry glanced at Ginny, knowing this was not the answer she’d wanted, but Molly and Arthur looked at Harry with respect and pride. Staring directly into Ginny’s eyes he said,“Not to mention there’s no one here I’d be breaking that rule with anyway, seeing as I apparently don’t have a girlfriend. Except maybe Ron. He’s looking dapper, lately, isn’t he?” Harry glanced at George, his smirk slipping from his face. He’d hoped George would catch the joke, but he only responded with a strange look, causing Harry to feel more gawky than he already did. Ginny let out a sound of outrage and stormed from the room, shouldering Harry aside as she went. Harry, looking unaffected as he could muster, regained his balance and took a sandwich off the tray on the table, nodding to Molly in thanks. 

“Don’t you feel that was a bit harsh?” Molly asked him softly as he reached the kitchen door. “She’s distraught over this whole ordeal. I thought you two loved each other.”

Harry didn’t turn around before he responded, and instead replied to the old wooden door in front of him. “I thought so, too.” And then he left the kitchen. 

These awkward situations had happened too many times to fit into a three day period, yet they had, and Harry was at his wits end. Either Ginny was through with him, or she wasn’t, and he decided he needed to confront her about it. Nothing was being sorted out between the two of them, and there was still two months before school started. Harry made up his mind and went up the stairs in search of Ginny, but was stopped by Ron poking his head out of his bedroom. 

“Hey, can I talk to you a minute?” Ron looked disgruntled, and Harry knew that this had to happen, too. Ron hadn’t said much to Harry since Ginny had broken things off, and Hermione had been oddly quiet towards him too. She hadn’t even mentioned returning to school, and that was strange by itself. 

“Yeah,” Harry said. Ron moved the door further open and Harry went into the cramped bedroom, taking a seat on ‘his’ bed and biting roughly into his sandwich. Ron began pacing the room and Harry counted his steps between turn-arounds. One, two, three, four, five, six, turn. One, two, three, four, five six, turn. Ron paced several more times before he stopped and faced Harry, appearing anything but calm.

“Why?” 

“Why what?” Harry asked, knowing exactly what Ron had meant.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know. Why did you break up with my sister?”

“I didn’t break up with her! She broke up with me!”

“It doesn’t matter! Why?” Ron’s face was slowly turning more and more pink. Harry thought that he should give his friend a straight answer before the blood vessel in his neck burst.

“Haven’t you seen how bad things have gotten? Have you not heard all the fighting that we’ve been doing since the war ended? She’s not happy, I’m not happy, and I’m not going back to that fucking castle!” Harry caught his breath after his explosion. He hadn’t realised how upset this had made him, but it was obvious now. The breakup hadn’t broken his heart, but part of him was mad at himself for breaking hers. “I never wanted to hurt her, Ron. You know I loved her. I even thought, maybe one day, we’d have a family. Now, it’s like nothing makes sense any more! I can’t take her constant pawing, her need for affection. I don’t even think I have any left to give anymore. Even when I did give her what she wanted, it was never enough--and you know the rules your parents gave us. They’re the same ones you and Hermione were given! With all your family has done for me, I can’t just… I can’t just disregard that.”

Ron looked as though he was at odds with himself. When he spoke, Harry knew it was the case. “It’s not like I _want_ you to shag my sister. And I understand not wanting to disrespect my family.” Ron sighed heavily. “You haven’t been acting like much of a boyfriend, though. Anyone can see that. You ignored her, avoided her… That’s not how couples act.” Harry knew his friend was right.

“I’ve been avoiding everyone, if you haven’t noticed. Not just Ginny,” he defended himself poorly.

“She’s the one person you should be able to go to when you’re avoiding everyone. If you didn’t have feelings for her, you shouldn’t have led her on.”

“I thought━” He took a deep breath before he started yelling again. Yelling was not going to help the situation. Calmly, he said, “I thought I did have feelings for her, but things are changing and I can’t help it.” Harry wasn’t even sure what was changing between himself and Ginny. It hadn’t started with one thing in particular, not that he could see. He wasn’t certain that Ginny was fully responsible for the change, either. During the war she had been like his light at the end of the tunnel, his one shot at normalcy. Now that he had the ability to bask in that light and take that chance, it wasn’t what he wanted and it was becoming clearer and clearer as the days passed. 

“Then you should’ve told her when you stopped having feelings for her.” Harry didn’t have a response for that, but Ron went on anyway. “When did you stop?”

“I don’t know.” And he didn’t. Ron shook his head as though he didn’t believe Harry, but before he could say anything a knock sounded on the door to the bedroom.

“Harry, letter for you.” Harry stood and crossed the room, opening the door to find George not-looking-at him. Everyone seemed to be not-looking-at him lately. For three days, to be precise. 

“Thanks.” Harry took the letter from George and shut the door. He sat back down where he’d been and disregarded the letter, not feeling like it was important when he and his best friend were fighting. “Ron, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not the one you should be saying that to. You need to talk to her, mate.” Ron sat on his bed across from Harry and leaned back on his hands. “There’s still a bit of time before school starts, and your breakup is making things even more hectic. It’s only going to get worse if you don’t at least try to make up with her.” 

“I’m not going to beg for her back,” he said, knowing his face had twisted into disbelief.

“I don’t mean ask her out again. I mean try to make a peace offering, I don’t know, do something. She’s fucking heartbroken and it’s hell for everyone else.” Harry nodded. That’s what he’d been about to do━kind of━before he’d been taken aside by Ron. He stood, deciding it would be better to get it out of the way sooner than later.

Knocking on Ginny’s door felt strange for two reasons. The first was because he had never had to before. The second was because he felt like he shouldn’t be doing it now. It took a moment for Harry to hear any sort of response from behind the door, but after he’d knocked a second time he heard Ginny softly tell him to come in. He opened the door and peeked around the corner. Ginny was lying back on her pillow with her knees up, a Quidditch magazine in her hands. 

“I reckon you’ll help win the house cup this year,” Harry said, stepping into the room which was decorated with Gryffindor colours and Quidditch posters. Ginny glanced at him and then back at her magazine. Maybe that hadn’t been the best thing to mention, seeing as Harry wouldn’t be there to see it. “Can I talk to you?”

“You already are.” She didn’t move, or motion for him to sit down, so he stood in the middle of her room awkwardly, shifting his weight from hip to hip every so often as the atmosphere between them thickened. 

“Er…” What was he supposed to say? What did he want to say? He’d thought he had some sort of plan, or starting point for this conversation, but as he stood in Ginny’s room everything flew from his head and was replaced with confusion and discomfort. 

“Well?” Ginny put her magazine down and sat up in her bed. She stared at him with a blank expression as she crossed her arms over her chest. 

“I’m sorry.” That was probably as good a place to start as any.

“Okay,” she said, cocking her head. His apology wasn’t going to be good enough unless he explained why, he understood.

“I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“Why?” Harry sighed. She wasn’t making this any easier than he’d hoped she would.

“Because I care about you and I didn’t mean to… lead you on.”

“Is that so?” 

“Yeah.” Harry shuffled his feet as she continued to stare at him, expecting more. He didn’t know exactly what he was supposed to say. Breakups were never easy, and he didn’t exactly feel like the fault was all on his shoulders. 

“What did I do wrong?” she asked, as though reading his mind.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he explained. “I mean, we both have, but there’s been so much tension between us lately, and you haven’t really explained why you’re upset with me. Ron says I’ve been avoiding and ignoring you, but I don’t really want to be around anyone right now.”

“Then why are you here?” Because he didn’t have anywhere else to go. He had a feeling ‘here’ didn’t mean the Burrow, but in her room.

“Because things can’t continue like they have, Ginny. We have to sort this out or everyone else is going to suffer because of us.”

“Come back to school and everything will go back to normal.” That was enough to irritate him.

“Sure, you make it sound so simple. ‘Go back to school, and you won’t have to constantly think about the fact that the last remaining friend of your father _died at that school_ along with practically everyone else.’ Yeah, easy enough, right?” Another thought struck him, and he couldn’t control his sharp tongue as it spoke his thoughts. “Not to mention the fact that with that last remaining friend, his wife died and left an infant, my godson, with no parents. _At that school._ I almost died at that _fucking school._ Your brother died _at that school._ ” He scoffed. “Yeah, normal. Okay.” Ginny looked like he’d slapped her, and he may as well have with what he’d just said. He couldn’t force himself to care at that moment, though. 

“Really, Harry? You think I don’t know that?” Tears had begun to form in the corners of her eyes, but Harry was too angry to comfort her. “You think I don’t know that my brother fucking died there? I have no choice but to go back and face my fears. I thought, being the bravest Gryffindor in the history of Gryffindors, you’d see that you should face yours, too, but apparently I was wrong. You can’t run away forever.” 

“I’m not running away. I’m making a decision for myself for once in my life. Sorry that bothers you so much.” But he wasn’t sorry, and his tone implied that. Ginny choked on a sob that had little to do with his lack of sincerity, he thought, and more to do with the state of things. 

“What happened to us?” she whispered, looking down at her rumpled bed sheets. Harry shook his head. He didn’t know the answer to that question. “Why am I not enough for you?”

“It’s not━you’re not━”

“Then _why,_ Harry? If I’m enough, then why?” Her large brown eyes were boring painfully into his green ones and he felt the need to look away, but didn’t. “Harry.” She stood up and crossed the small space between them. When she stood inches away from Harry, she placed her hands on his chest and he flinched. “You do this, every single time. It’s like you aren’t attracted to me.” She paused, her hands floated shakily back down to her sides. “ _Are_ you attracted to me?”

“Why would you ask that?” Harry thought she was a very beautiful girl, but for some reason that didn’t make him feel like they were ‘meant to be’ as he’d once thought. 

“Part of me feels that you’re not.” Tears still clung to her lashes as she focused on Harry, and he couldn't help but notice, once again, just how stunning she was becoming as she grew into womanhood. Lately, however, it failed to draw his eye. It didn't seem to move him the way it used to, and hadn’t for some time. “I love you, Harry.”

“I thought… For the longest time I thought I loved you.”

“What happened?” she asked quietly. 

“A lot of things, and it seems that they’ve only brought us further apart. All I know is that I don’t want to fight anymore,” he pleaded.

“I don’t plan to fight anyone, Harry. I’m done fighting. There’s been enough of that this past year for a lifetime.” He wanted to ask if that meant she’d stop throwing dirty looks at him and everyone else, but he knew that would only set her off again, despite her words. “Are we finished?”

“Yeah. I still care about you, Ginny, just━just not the way I used to. I didn’t mean for this to happen.” Ginny sighed and sat back down on her bed, looking more defeated than upset.

“I know, Harry. I know.”

He gazed at her for a moment, still unable to gather why he couldn’t love her like he used to. After standing in her doorway for what was probably too long, he left her room and went back to Ron’s, which was empty of anyone else besides Harry. As he approached ‘his’ bed he saw the letter he’d set there and picked it up as he sat down heavily. Needing to take his mind off of everything, he popped the golden wax Ministry seal on the front and unfolded it. 

 

_Mister Harry James Potter,_  


_The Ministry of Magic would like to first thank you for all that you’ve done for us and the Wizarding World. We owe you a debt that is far too significant to explain in words. I regret that one more favor is requested of you._

__

_Known Death Eater, Draco Lucius Malfoy, is on trial, currently, when he is not incarcerated at the Azkaban prison facility. His final appearance before the Wizengamot is to be held on August first, 1998. As you were privy to his behaviour in school, certain crimes he may have committed, and the fall of Voldemort, I would like to request that you are present as a witness. You have the choice of declining, though I must say that your evidence would be greatly appreciated by myself and the Wizengamot in order to properly judge the Death Eater._  


_Many well wishes, Kingsley Shacklebolt_


	2. Conference and Culpability

Harry grit his teeth as he read the letter he’d received from the Ministry over a week before. The letter was worn where it’d first been folded because of how many times he’d read it. Many times, he’d debated whether or not he should attend the hearing, which was only four days away. By this point, Harry was aware that a lot of the things Malfoy had done were because of obligation. He probably hadn’t wanted to do the things he had, but because of his father’s position as a follower of Voldemort, he hadn’t had much choice, unless he wanted to die along with his parents. Harry knew what it was like to be forced down a path you weren’t certain about, or really wished you didn’t have to follow through with, even though the paths he and Malfoy had taken were almost complete opposites. The fact that he felt that way, however, made him incredibly uneasy. There shouldn’t be a part of him that sympathized with Malfoy after everything the bastard had put him through. He told himself that he should be seething with rage about Malfoy and raring to go to his hearing if only to ensure that the great twat wound up spending the rest of his miserable life behind bars. Somehow he couldn’t manage to force himself to feel that way. He wasn’t sure which part was worse; the fact that he could relate to Malfoy now that his head was clear of war, or that he didn’t want that fate for him. 

Folding the letter and putting it beneath his pillow again, he wondered what sort of questions they’d be asking him at the hearing. Harry wasn’t sure he’d have the answers they’d want, but he couldn’t say for sure. Even if he did, he wasn’t sure he wanted to be a part of what could be Malfoy’s last bout of freedom before being locked away for life. 

“Harry!” Molly called for the third time in fifteen minutes. “Dinner is ready, and if you want it, you’ll get a move on!” He wasn’t hungry, and hadn’t really been since he’d gotten the letter. Anxiety had been keeping his stomach full, and Molly had taken him aside several times since she’d noticed his lack of appetite. She first thought he was avoiding eating because of the finances, and then the breakup, but that wasn’t it, and he couldn’t bring himself to explain the real reason. How did one cope with the thought of being the person who locked another man up, even if he did commit crimes? 

Deciding he’d better attend the meal if he didn’t want another talking-to, Harry got up from the bed and made his way down the stairs and to the kitchen. He nodded hello to everyone, but Hermione and Molly were the only two who smiled at him as he took his seat between Ron and Arthur. 

“So,” Hermione began, looking at Harry with an innocent expression. “You’re really not going back to school? Tomorrow everyone is going to Diagon Alley for school materials.” Harry was genuinely surprised that it had taken Hermione this long to address his decline to go back for an eighth year of school. 

“I’m really not going back to school, Hermione,” he said kindly, but firmly. He began to nibble at the asparagus on the end of his fork.

“Well, you could still come with us tomorrow.” Harry shrugged, but was glad she wasn’t going to press the matter of his education. “Oh, come on, Harry. You need to get out of the house for a bit. Come with us. It’ll be good for you.”

“I don’t need any school supplies,” he argued mildly.

“But it would still benefit you to get out of the house for once.”

“No,” he stated, ending the discussion. He ate a piece of chicken and glanced at Hermione, who looked stung by his refusal. Harry could think back to all the times he’d gone to Diagon Alley with Ron and Hermione to shop for school, and how enjoyable it had been. Now, with all the letters he’d gotten begging him for interviews and public appearances, he knew it would be far from a pleasant experience to go with them. It seemed like a new letter came every day, asking him for just one short interview, just one picture, just one blah, blah, blah. He didn’t want the attention. All he’d ever wanted in life was to be normal, and the end of Voldemort had seemed like the light at the end of the ‘freak’ tunnel. He didn’t want to be special, didn’t want people fawning over him, thanking him profusely for something he had no choice in to begin with. Sure, he’d saved the wizarding world, but that didn’t mean he wanted the fame that went with it. 

“Hogwash!” Arthur said, snapping the _Daily Prophet_ in his hands closed and tossing it onto the floor of the kitchen. “Molly, did you know they’re now accusing us of holding Harry hostage?”

“That can’t be right, dear,” Molly said, placing her fork gently on her plate. “Surely they know better than that. We’re his family.” 

“That’s not what they’re saying,” Arthur rumbled. Harry was sure the glare Arthur sent him had little to do with his being upset with him, but he still felt guilty. “Why won’t you give them one single interview?” His voice was softer, but there was still plenty of anger in his eyes as he questioned Harry.

“I just want to be left alone,” Harry explained wearily. 

“I understand that, Harry, but your refusal to even respond to their requests is making us look like horrible people in their eyes.” Arthur’s anger had subsided a bit, but he was still obviously concerned. “We know how things really are, but these news people… they like to twist things.” 

“Fine, I’ll do a bloody interview!” Harry shouted. Molly was too shocked to correct his use of harsh language. “I’ll just go along with everything everyone else wants of me until the day I die, does that make you all happy?” 

“Harry James Potter!” Molly chided fiercely as he stood up from his chair. Her shock had apparently passed and now Harry was confronted by a look he’d seen her give the twins many times over the years. “ _Sit back down,_ this meal is not finished.” Her voice became calmer when she explained, “We’re having a discussion, that’s all. There is no need for accusations or foul language.” She looked back and forth between her husband and pseudo-son.

Harry sat down, still fuming, but not wanting to add anymore to the chaos. Drawing his wand, he silently summoned a piece of parchment and a quill from the sitting room table and began writing his consent for an interview the next day outside of the Apothecary. He wrote that he would allow five questions to be asked, and that he would not stay longer than ten minutes after three. Once he’d finished the letter, he folded it and set it aside, then resumed picking at his food in vexation.

“Harry, you didn’t have to do that,” Molly said in a voice that said she was glad he had done it.

“Yeah, I did. I’m Harry Potter, remember? I don’t have choices.”

“You know that’s not true, dear.” Molly didn’t meet his eyes as she said it, and Harry knew she was lying. Everyone knew he didn’t have many choices. Even now, he was forced to stay with a family that was growing more and more uncomfortable with him because Grimmauld Place, his own house, was unsafe until all Death Eaters were imprisoned. His bank account was frozen for six months as punishment for breaking into Gringotts, which he had to do in order to save everyone. Punished for helping. If that didn’t sum up the entirety of Harry’s life, he didn’t know what did. 

Dinner was over and Harry sat alone in Ron’s bedroom. This was typical. Harry had been spending a lot of time alone since he and Ron had talked, which was fine with him. That’s what he’d wanted, after all; some time away from everyone. What he’d actually meant was time away from the Burrow, but that wasn’t possible at the moment. 

Harry went to sleep before Ron returned to his room, so he’d been alone with his Ministry letter until his eyes grew too heavy to keep them open. The next day was not something he looked forward to, but when he’d been shouted awake he got dressed in some nicer clothes anyway. He figured if he could look nice enough in the interview he would be able to convince anyone that thought the Weasleys were holding him hostage that at least they were taking care of him. 

Everyone was rushing around the house shortly before they were going to leave. Everyone except George, who was lounging on the couch in the sitting room, fumbling with a failed invention. Harry sat across from him in one of the worn armchairs and watched George’s long fingers moving over the trinket, which Harry couldn’t identify.

“What’s that?” he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Something Fred and I were working on before…” George trailed off, pinching his lips together. That was the most he’d said to Harry since he and Ginny had broken up, and Harry hoped that meant George wasn’t still upset with him. 

“Are you going to fix it?”

“No.” George looked at Harry with another odd look. “Are you in love with Ron?” Harry was completely taken aback by George’s question.

“What— n— In love. . .with Ron? Are you kidding me?” Harry’s eyes widened as he tripped over his words. “Why would you think that?”

“Just curious. No need to get defensive.” 

“Wait, you don’t mean… That was a joke, George. I don’t really think Ron looks dapper,” said Harry as he recalled the the time in the kitchen.

“Could’ve fooled me.” George looked back down at the trinket he held, his lips curving at one end. Harry crossed his arms and shook his head, but was glad to see George smiling anyway, even if it was at his expense.

“It was a joke,” he repeated forcefully. “You didn’t think I was serious, did you?” George raised his eyebrows, but said nothing as he twisted the odd object back and forth. He’d been about to pester George some more when the rest of the Weasleys and Hermione came into the sitting room and gathered around the fireplace.

“Alright, we’re off,” Molly said, looking to Harry expectantly. “You’re sure you want to come?” Harry stood up and brushed the wrinkles from his white button down shirt.

“I’m sure,” he said as he walked to join the group, not looking back at George as he went. Molly smiled to him and then scooped up a handful of Floo powder from the jar on the mantle. Ginny went first, then Ron, Hermione, and finally Arthur. Molly looked at Harry before she tossed in another bit of powder, as though she was giving him the chance to back out.

“I’m going,” he said firmly. She nodded once and tossed the powder in. Harry stepped into the green flames and spoke his destination, dreading the feeling of being condensed as he traveled through the Floo network. He braced himself as he landed in Diagon Alley and stepped out into the busy street. Immediately people stopped to gawk at him as they realised he was there.

“Is that Harry Potter?” a little girl asked her mother with wide eyes.

“Yes dear, why don’t you go and ask him for his signature?” The little girl did just that, and Harry tried to smile as he told her he hadn’t brought a quill with him. Her face fell before she trudged back to her mother’s side and Harry tried hard not to grimace. He checked the time on his wrist watch. Six minutes until three, which meant he’d better get to the Apothecary before anyone suspected he wasn’t showing up. He walked along the cobblestone road, avoiding the eyes of excited passers by. Every person he passed looked at him as though he were the sun and moon combined, and it made his stomach roil. 

There was already a large group of people and reporters surrounding the door to the Apothecary, which Harry thought was funny. They’d probably thought he’d be exiting the building any moment, and their quills were poised and ready to jot down every breath he took, every twitch of his fingers as they waited. Several of them had cameras to capture his interview, something Harry did not approve of. He’d said they could ask questions, not take pictures. Why he’d expected these leeches to respect his privacy he couldn’t say. 

“Hello,” he said as he approached the backs of the people waiting for him. Nobody turned around. “It’s me, Harry Potter.” He tried to keep the anger he felt out of his voice. Every person in the group turned towards him. In less than a second, they were swarmed around him, pictures being snapped and questions being shouted, along with “Harry! Harry Potter! Over here!” 

“Everyone stop!” he shouted. Much to his disbelief, they all got quiet. “Five questions. Raise your hands, and I’ll call on you as I see fit.” Every single person raised their hands, and Harry couldn’t help but picture a group of Hermiones, desperate to answer the teacher’s question. He spotted Rita Skeeter among the reporters and knew he wouldn’t be answering anything from her. “You,” he said. “The one in the bowler hat.” The man shoved his way through the mob and when he’d got to the front, he smiled, revealing too much gums for his short teeth. 

“Are the Weasleys holding you hostage? Are they letting you eat? Have you and Ginevra Weasley conceived a child yet?”

“One question,” Harry grunted between clenched teeth.

“The first one, then,” the man said, obviously disappointed, even though Harry’s instructions had been clear. “Are the Weasleys holding you hostage? There are reports━”

“No,” Harry cut him off. “They are not holding me hostage. The Weasleys are the closest thing I have to family, and I’m staying with them until it’s safe for me to…” What was he doing? Why would he provide personal information like that? “To leave,” he finished. The man in the bowler hat wrote furiously on his notepad, using so much force that Harry thought he might snap his quill. 

All of the reporters raised their hands once more as they gathered that the first question had been answered. Harry called upon a woman whose plum lipstick was much too dark for her complexion, but it had made her stand out. She stepped forward and snapped a quick picture, which Harry let go. They’d already gotten so many, what was one more?

“Are you going to attend the Draco Malfoy trial in three days time?” she asked kindly. Harry thought for a moment. He hadn’t really made that decision for himself yet, so he didn’t know what to tell her. He thought saying maybe would be sufficient, but then something in his gut told him he should make his mind up already.

“Yes. Next question.” Two down, three to go. The rest of the questions were related to him and Ginny, and he considered turning away from the interview and leaving. No, he had not asked her to marry him. No, they were not having a baby. No, Ron had not tried to kill him for dating his sister. But finally, the interview ended, much to the reporters’ chagrin. A few of them even tried to follow him as he went back to the Floo he’d exited from. One of them had snapped a picture of him as he told them to bugger off, which had almost been enough to make him smash the camera. Instead he’d gone back to the Burrow without his friends and hid away in Ron’s room. At least that was done and over.

 

<>

Draco awoke slowly, not knowing when, or how, he’d fallen asleep in the first place. There was an Auror talking to him from the other side of the bars of the cell. It took Draco a moment to understand what the Auror was saying. His ears felt frozen and his body was rigid. 

“Get up!” the Auror shouted. “It’s almost time for your last hearing.” Draco jumped up at that, not only because of that bit of information, but because it was the Auror who had continuously beaten him. He hadn’t known what day it was, and the anticipation that ran through him at the thought of being in a warm building gave him the strength to limp over to the bars of his cell. “Don’t get too excited. You’ll be back here by the end of the day, I’m sure.” 

The Auror was probably correct, but a break from his cell was something he desperately needed. A binding spell was put on his wrists before his cell opened, and Draco already felt better just being outside of it. The Auror, whose name Draco still didn’t know, shoved him along beside the jagged edge of the path towards a boat that awaited them several hundred yards away. As they walked past cells belonging to other prisoners Draco kept his eyes down. He didn’t care to see the accusatory stares they aimed at him as he went, their jealousy bringing forth hatred towards him. His legs felt as though they’d give out; his broken ankle had not healed fully and neither had his ribs, but he pushed on through the pain anyway.

It was a very long boat ride, and Draco had not been allowed to sit inside the warm interior of the boat, but was forced to sit in the whipping wind and cold, repeatedly being splashed by the water that rose around them. Several hours later they reached a shore and side-along Apparated to the Ministry. Once there, the Auror who escorted him cast several shoddy healing spells here and there. Draco sighed in relief as his ankle swelling went down and he felt he could stand on it properly again. The Auror said nothing during or after this gesture, but Draco had a feeling it was less for his own comfort than it was a cover for the Auror.

The Auror practically dragged him along as they went through the long halls toward the stairs. After walking up ten flights of stairs Draco was severely winded, aching tremendously, and was thankful when they reached courtroom ten where he was able to sit down. The entire Wizengamot was already sitting, waiting for him. Their black robes reminded him too much of the ones he’d been forced to wear as a Death Eater, and he averted his gaze to the floor. His own appearance was deplorable, to say the least. He hadn’t had a shower in months, and he’d been wearing the same prisoner uniform, grey on grey, for more than two weeks. His face was bruised and cut, his uniform bloodied, and his spirit had been stolen with every bit of abuse that had been forced upon him. He hoped he didn’t look grotesque as the cameras snapped pictured from every angle, but he knew that this was not the case.

This was it. This was his final hearing before they sentenced him to life in Azkaban. There was a point during his second hearing that he’d thought they might consider letting him go. His father and mother had both listed scores of names belonging to Death Eaters who had followed Voldemort, and even that hadn’t been enough for them to let the family go. His father was sentenced to ten years, but at least his mother had been freed. Remembering her promise of being at all of his hearings, Draco looked up and scoured the benches that surrounded him until he saw her pale hair and then her teary eyes. He stared at her, willing her presence to give him hope for his sentence. 

The members of the Wizengamot rose to stand as Kingsley Shacklebolt entered the room, and sat back down once he had himself taken a seat. The hearing had started.

“Draco Lucius Malfoy, admitted Death Eater, stands trial on this, the first of August, nineteen ninety eight.” Shacklebolt spoke loudly enough that everyone in the room could hear him, and Draco saw that he did not look toward the centre of the room, where he sat chained and cuffed. “This will be his final hearing, and at the end of it we shall make the decision in regards to his sentence. At this time, I would like to call a witness to the stand. Harry James Potter, please be seated in the witness’ booth.”

Draco’s eyes widened in fear as he heard the name of his arch enemy called. Panic-stricken, he searched the room for the boy he’d been at the throat of since his first year at Hogwarts. There, walking down the same aisle his mother was seated in, was the messy haired wizard, looking none too pleased to be there himself. As Potter reached the witness’ booth, Draco felt the sliver of hope he hadn’t known was there slip from his mind. He would not be freed. He would not get his wand back. He would die behind the bars of his prison cell, even if his sentence was lighter than his father’s. The guards would see to that. He doubted that his father would make it out alive, either. Draco knew there was nothing Potter could, or would, say to help him; the boy hated him. It was too late, and the hearing had barely begun.

These thoughts flitted through his mind as Potter looked down at Draco and did a double-take. First shock painted Potter’s face, then concern, then pity. The last expression stuck, and his attention was only removed from Draco’s appearance when the Minister called his name. Draco felt indignant. That Potter should feel pity for him meant he had truly reached the lowest point of his existence. 

“Mister Potter,” Shacklebolt addressed him. “Do you agree to answer the questions the Wizengamot have written out for me to ask, and all other questions I ask, in all truth, to the best of your ability?”

“Yeah━I mean, I do.” Potter’s head snapped around to look at the Minister and Draco gazed with wide silver eyes at his enemy as he answered the first question.

“During the Battle of Hogwarts, did Mister Malfoy not beg Mister Dolohov, who is also a known and convicted Death Eater, for his life, stating, ‘I’m Draco Malfoy, I’m Draco, I’m on your side?’” Draco flinched as his own quote echoed through the courtroom. He’d completely forgotten about that. 

“That’s true, sir, but he was about to be killed,” Harry said. Draco really could’ve fallen over dead; Potter had defended him. “People say all kinds of awful things when their life is about to be taken from them.” 

Shacklebolt ignored the defence mechanisms from Potter, sticking strictly to business. “In school did Mister Malfoy ever refer to Muggle-born or half-blood students in derogatory terms?” Potter paused, a grimace on his face.

“Well… yes.”

“And what terms did you hear him using?”

“Mudblood, mostly. Sometimes blood traitor.” Potter glanced at Draco and seemed surprised to find Draco already staring at him. A second later Potter looked away. 

“Would you describe Mister Malfoy’s behavior during school as the bullying sort?”

“Kind of, yeah.”

“What do you mean when you say ‘kind of?’ The answer is either yes, no, sometimes, or most of the time.”

“Most of the time,” Potter modified, looking down at his entwined fingers. 

“Did Mister Malfoy ever show any remorse for choosing to become a Death Eater?”

“Yes,” Potter stated firmly. “He has.” Draco could not for the life of him understand why Potter seemed so adamant to protect Draco, if that’s what he was doing. He’d been so mean to Potter over the years, done so many horrible things to him and his closest friends. Now he felt guilty, and for quite a while he had, but back then he had meant everything he’d done. Every unkind word, every insult, every fight he’d either started or participated in. Draco had meant to do and say every single thing. His reasons behind his actions were unknown to everyone but him, and perhaps his father, but that was beside the point. Why Potter would take the time to, as it seemed, gain Draco some positive points, made no sense to him.

“Please describe the events in which he did this.”

“Alright. First was when he didn’t kill Dumbledore. He was told to, but I was there, and I saw him struggle. I saw him cry as he pointed his wand at the headmaster, and I saw him lower it.”

“Yet he partook in the murder of Albus Dumbledore, in the end.”

“No, he didn’t. He was there, but he didn’t kill Dumbledore,” Potter argued.

“By allowing Death Eaters into the school━which he has admitted to doing━he aided in the murder of Albus Dumbledore. There is no debating this fact. Please continue.” Potter looked perturbed by the order from the Minister, but continued regardless.

“He hesitated to name myself, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger when we were captured by Snatchers around Easter of last year. His aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange, and his dad were trying to get him to name us, but he didn’t tell them it was me. He was trying to help us.”

For a moment, Shacklebolt actually looked surprised. “And what would have happened if Mister Malfoy had exposed you?”

“Then Voldemort would’ve been called and… well, I probably wouldn’t be here as a witness.” Draco saw, from the corners of his vision, a collective twitch in the courtroom at the use of the Dark Lord’s first name. He was too distracted to find any joy in it, though, as he listened to Potter’s responses to the Minister’s questions.

“Are there any other examples?”

“He told his friends not to kill me in the Room of Hidden Things, during the Battle of Hogwarts. That’s all I can think of.”

“Those are all rather good examples,” Shacklebolt considered. “Did Mister Malfoy ever perform Unforgivable Curses on you or in your presence?” 

“No.” That wasn’t true, though. Draco had tried to perform Cruciatus on Potter when he’d found him in the bathroom, confiding to Myrtle that he was struggling with the choices he’d made and had been forced to make. He supposed that, since he hadn’t been able to finish casting the curse, he hadn’t actually performed it, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t tried.

“Are you absolutely certain? You are under oath,” Shacklebolt reminded him.

“I am certain. He has never performed any Unforgivable Curses on me, or in my presence.” Shacklebolt seemed as though he wasn’t confident with Potter’s answer, but kept on asking questions. The clock near the back of the courtroom ticked on as Potter continued to defend him at every chance he got. Draco was so very confused. After all he’d done Potter was trying to make him out to be a better person than he had been. Looking up to his mother, Draco could see that she was just as perplexed as her son. She stared at Potter with a mix of incertitude and appreciation. No longer crying, she looked almost hopeful. If Potter’s words meant so much to the Wizengamot, and surely they did, then perhaps there was a chance that they’d at least shorten the length of his imprisonment. Draco tried not to get his hopes up, however; the hearing was not finished and his sentence had not been spoken.

“I, and the Wizengamot, have no further questions in regards to Mister Malfoy’s actions,” Shacklebolt said firmly. “Is there anything else you’d like to add before we settle the matter of Mister Malfoy’s sentence?”

“Yes, there is.” Potter took a deep breath and looked at Draco with sad eyes. “Malfoy━Draco, that is━has always been a prat.” The occupants of courtroom ten gasped as his phrasing. “Sorry, but that’s true. He’s rarely been kind to me, or anyone else, really. But that doesn’t make him a horrible person. His parents’ mistakes have made it so that he’s lived a life decided by everyone around him, and no, that doesn’t excuse some of, or most of, the things he’s done, but when you look at the circumstances around his childhood… it’s hard to say that he is a criminal. You’ve done a lot of awful things, Malfoy━”

“Please do not speak to Mister Malfoy. Address either myself or the Wizengamot when you refer to him,” Shacklebolt interrupted, not sounding upset.

“Sorry,” Potter said, unlocking his gaze from Draco’s. “He’s done a lot of awful things, but he was also forced to do many of the things he’s on trial for. I think, at first, he really wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps. I think that once he figured out what that meant, he regretted what he did, but it was already too late to take it back. The Dark Mark, I mean.” Draco instinctively felt the need to rub his Dark Mark, but couldn’t with the chains securing him to the chair. “I think that he wanted to get out soon after he’d been initiated as a Death Eater━or maybe even before then━and I think the reason that he became one in the first place was to protect his family and himself from Voldemort’s wrath. I think that the only reason Voldemort had ordered Draco to kill Dumbledore was to set him up to fail so he could punish him for his father’s mess up the Department of Mysteries the year before.” There was another rustling of robes as the entire room flinched away from the name they were probably all still afraid to utter. Potter kept on talking, paying them no mind. “There’s nothing I can do to decide his sentence. I can’t convince you to let him go, and I’m not really trying to. But before you sentence him to years in Azkaban, think about all the other Death Eaters, and how severe their crimes were compared to Malfoy’s. He was still a kid, and if there’s anyone who knows what it’s like to be forced down a path you know very little about, it’s me. I can’t say whether or not Malfoy was scared, but I was. I guess… what I’m trying to say is…” Potter stuttered for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure what he was trying to say. Then, after a moment of stretching silence, he spoke again. “Can you really blame someone for making the choices they made, when the only other option was the death of their entire family, and themselves?” The Wizengamot began to whisper amongst themselves. Shacklebolt turned around and motioned for them to be quiet, and the wave of mumbles ceased. 

“Thank you very much, Mister Potter,” the Minister said. “That concludes the hearing. Now, if the Wizengamot will follow me…” There was a rush of movement, and pictures flashed from everywhere once more, as the group of black clad witches and wizards, along with the Minister, went through a door to the side of the courtroom. Potter stood near the exit, staring at Draco, and he couldn’t tell what the expression on his enemy’s face meant. Potter raised his hand and waved once, then turned and left. 

 

<>

Harry stayed up all night after the hearing. He thought about the things he’d said and wondered why he’d said them. There was only a small part of him remaining that still resented Malfoy for the things he’d done over the last seven years, but wasn’t that strange? Again he wondered why he didn’t seem to harbor hatred for Malfoy, the boy who’d always been there to heckle him and his friends, who’d gotten him countless detentions, who’d stomped on his face and left him paralyzed in an empty train. Who’d been on the wrong side of the war. Shouldn’t he feel glad to see how beaten down and broken Malfoy was? Harry felt like he should, but he couldn’t. He’d felt as though he’d be ill upon seeing Malfoy’s bedraggled, bruised and bloodied appearance. It struck him in a way that he couldn’t peg, but he was pretty sure what he felt was compassion.

A rustle of blankets on the other side of the bedroom drew Harry’s eyes. In the dark, he couldn’t tell if Ron was awake or sleeping, but the atmosphere of the room changed, and Harry sensed eyes on him. 

“You awake?” he whispered to the lump across the room that was Ron.

“Yeah. You?” 

“Obviously,” he chuckled. “Can’t sleep?”

“No.” Ron sounded as though he wasn’t going to say anything, but then Harry saw him sit up and turn his bedside oil lamp on. “I heard about what you said at Malfoy’s trial today.” Harry sat up as well, expecting this to be a weighted conversation. He wrapped his thick blanket around his shoulders as he adjusted his eyes to the dim lighting that flooded the compact room.

“I’ve been thinking about that. S‘why I can’t sleep.”

“Why did you say those things? Like he’s your friend, or something? We hate Malfoy, remember? Hermione still has that… that bloody scar on her neck because of him.” Harry wanted to say that he didn’t hate Malfoy, but that was the wrong thing to say, so he didn’t. 

“I didn’t treat him like a friend. I would have lied for you, mate, you know that. And I don’t think Hermione’s scar was really his fault, seeing as Bellatrix was the one who put that scar there.”

“Honestly, even now you’re defending him.” Ron’s whisper was full of incredulity. “How can you say he doesn’t deserve a real sentence for what he did? We saved his life, twice, during the final battle and he didn’t so much as thank us.”

“I know we did. I don’t think he deserves anything, Ron, but…”

“You feel like you can relate to him somehow, don’t you? Always the bloody hero. It’s not your job to save anyone anymore, mate.” Ron shook his head and furrowed his eyebrows. “The war’s over.”

“I wasn’t trying to save him,” Harry whispered defensively. “I just didn’t want to be the deciding factor in his sentence. So many people have been locked up, and for good reasons, and I feel like his crimes aren’t as bad as the other Death Eaters.”

“That doesn’t mean he didn’t commit crimes. Harry, he’s a war criminal. He should be locked up.”

“Maybe he should, but I wasn’t going to be the one who put him behind bars.”

“Why not? After all the shite he pulled… I just don’t get it.” 

“I’m not sure I do, either. What you said, about feeling like I can relate. I think that’s part of it. I know why you hate him, I get it, but when you compare my life to his... they’re pretty similar.”

“Except he’s a Death Eater and you’re the one who saved everyone. That’s a huge difference.” Ron wasn’t going to budge, Harry could tell. Instead of trying to explain, he lay back down on the lumpy mattress and spread his blanket back over himself.

“Can we just try to sleep?” Harry asked, suddenly feeling overwhelmed and more isolated than he already had.

“Whatever.” Ron was not satisfied, that much was clear, but Harry didn’t feel like discussing the topic of Malfoy any longer. He couldn’t understand why he’d defended Malfoy either, so there was no point trying to explain himself to someone who refused to listen. 

Ron turned the oil lamp off manually and Harry heard him tossing around in his bed for a while. Then, after several long minutes, he heard his friend begin to snore loudly and knew that he was asleep. Harry wasn’t sure if he’d be able to sleep, even though he was tired. He was anxious to hear the verdict on Malfoy’s final hearing, whether or not he’d be put away for years to come. It didn’t make sense why part of him hoped that Malfoy wouldn’t be. In fact, there wasn’t a single bit of Harry that wished Malfoy would be imprisoned, and that was the strangest thing of all.


	3. Leaving Home

The morning after the trial, Harry rushed to get to the kitchen for the first time in weeks. Molly sat alone, reading the _Prophet_ and sipping a cup of tea at the table. She looked up at Harry as he entered the room and stood up quickly, setting the paper down next to her mug.

“Good morning, Harry! Breakfast isn’t even made yet. Let me just━”

“No, no that’s alright,” Harry sputtered. “I just came down to read the paper. I’m not really hungry.” Molly hesitated for a moment.

“Are you sure? I could whip something up.” Harry shook his head and sat across from Molly’s chair. “Just a cup of tea?”

“Um, alright. Thanks.” Figuring Molly wouldn’t let it go until he agreed to some form of nourishment, he agreed. He eyed the paper, which was face-down on the table. Then he looked up to Molly, who was fussing about the sink and cupboards. “Are you still reading the paper?”

“No, dear, have at it.” She turned from the stove and looked at him with a small grin. “Wondering about the Malfoy trial?”

“Yeah, I am,” he said as he picked up the paper. “Though I’m not sure what to hope for. Ron’s upset with me for what I said at the hearing.” He held the _Prophet,_ but wasn’t sure he wanted to read it anymore. At least, in front of Molly. He didn’t dare flip the paper over in case he caught a glimpse of the verdict on accident. For some reason it felt like too private a matter to read in front of another person. He wasn’t sure how he’d react and didn’t want yet another Weasley upset with him in case they felt he reacted incorrectly. 

“Oh, of course he is,” Molly said disapprovingly as she sat back down in her chair. “What you did yesterday was very brave.”

“Sure it was,” he scoffed.

“Really, it was. Not many people would’ve spoken on his behalf.” She looked at the paper in his hands and picked up her mug. “Sorry, I’m distracting you. Go on, read it.” Harry nodded, but still didn’t open the paper. He didn’t know why he was so uncomfortable in front of Molly. She was like a mother to him, but he still felt uncomfortable. 

“Is it alright if I take it to the other room?”

“That’s fine, but bring it back when you’re finished. Arthur will want to read it.” 

“Okay,” he said as he stood up. He left the kitchen and went to the sitting room, then sat on the couch and unfolded it. Instead of a picture of Malfoy, however, there was a picture of Harry on the front page, sitting in the witness’ booth. He was staring down at Malfoy and twisting his fingers in his lap, an expression of concern on his face. The fact that they’d used a picture of him instead of Malfoy didn’t make sense to him, but he looked past the picture and started reading. 

_After a lengthy trial of five hearings, Draco Lucius Malfoy has been sentenced. Many were confused with the Boy Saviour’s speech at the final trial, and just as many were upset by it. As we all know, the two boys have had something of a school rivalry, and none of us expected Harry Potter to speak kindly of the Death Eater in question._

Harry skipped ahead, not caring what they said about him. For a moment he scowled at the paper. ‘Boy Saviour,’ they’d called him. That was new, and not appreciated. He hated the nicknames the public had dubbed him with. 

_It was certainly unexpected that the Wizengamot came to the decision they had, but Draco Malfoy walks free today. We can only hope that they made the correct choice, here, and that the son of one of Voldemort’s most beloved followers doesn’t make the Wizengamot regret their decision. Should Harry Potter be blamed for this verdict?At the last hearing, things were looking bleak for the Malfoy heir…_

Harry snapped the paper closed, unsure of how he felt now that he knew the verdict. Malfoy was free. He felt good about that, even though part of him thought he shouldn’t, but they’d suggested he was to blame for that. The word blame implied that he’d done something wrong, though he didn’t think he had. Molly came through the kitchen door with a steaming cup of tea. She set it on the table before Harry and looked at him expectantly.

“Are you alright?” she asked softly.

“I’m fine,” he said as he picked up the cup of brown, hot liquid and blew on it. “Just confused.”

“And why is that?” She sat in one of the armchairs across from him and crossed her plump legs.

“They made it seem like I’m to blame for his freedom.”

“Well, you certainly had a part in it, didn’t you? I doubt they would’ve let him off so easy if you hadn’t spoken so kindly about him.”

“Did I do the wrong thing?” He didn’t know if she had an answer for him, but he asked anyway. Molly was usually unbiased when it came down to it, but he didn’t know how she felt about the Malfoys. Lucius Malfoy had nearly killed her only daughter, so Harry thought that perhaps she didn’t think too well of them. That had happened years ago, however, so maybe Molly had moved past it. Harry couldn’t imagine that after actually losing a child she would still be upset at almost losing another. Then again, Harry didn't have kids, so he couldn't say for sure that Molly would forgive Lucius. 

“Only time will tell, dear. Nobody can know if he will choose to do the right thing with his freedom. We can only hope.” Arthur walked into the room looking half-asleep, and Molly stood up to greet him with a peck on the lips and a rub of his pyjama covered arm. “Good morning, love,” she said sweetly to her husband. Turning to Harry, she asked, “Are you finished with the paper?” Harry nodded and held it out to Arthur, who took it with a smile. 

“Good morning,” Harry said to Arthur. 

“Morning, Harry.” 

The two older Weasleys went into the kitchen, leaving Harry with his thoughts. He wondered what would happen now that Malfoy was free, if they’d ever cross paths again. Part of him hoped they wouldn’t. He didn’t want to have to hear Malfoy’s thanks, or what he would say if he didn’t thank Harry. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure he wanted to be thanked. He genuinely hadn’t been trying to free the Slytherin. Sure, he was happy that he’d been freed, but he was unsure of whether or not it was okay for him to be happy about it. 

His thoughts were interrupted when Ginny came down the stairs, Hermione and Ron following shortly after. Ginny paused beside the couch and looked as though she wanted to say something, but then turned and entered the kitchen. Ron didn’t even look at him when he passed by. Hermione offered a groggy smile that didn’t reach her brown eyes. The Burrow was slowly becoming more unbearable, and Harry knew that he needed to leave soon.

<>

Life at the Burrow did not get any easier as the start of school got closer. He'd received several letters from the Auror Department asking him to work for them, but he declined each time. As much as he’d wanted to be an Auror, he didn’t feel that the time was right for that. The reason behind this was that the Ministry had also sent him a letter regarding Grimmauld Place. They’d stated that enough Death Eaters had been put away that it was safe for him to move in. He hadn’t told the Weasleys and Hermione yet, but he planned to that day. 

Making his way down stairs, he reached the sitting room and spotted George napping on the couch. Quietly, Harry tried to pass George by, but as he reached the other end of the room George stirred, rolled onto his side and over and looked at him.

“When are you leaving?” George asked. There was no inflection in his tone, and Harry wasn’t sure whether George was asking in impatience or curiosity.

“Uh, soon. Why do you ask?”

“Mum and dad have been getting antsy. They know you’ve been allowed to go back to number twelve. Why haven’t you said anything?” Harry felt a blush creep up his neck.

“I didn’t know how to bring it up,” he admitted. George rolled his eyes. 

“Just do it. As much as you’re family, Harry, we can’t afford you.” Harry couldn’t help but feel offended and guilty at the same time. He didn’t know whether to agree or defend himself, so instead he said nothing and entered the kitchen. 

“Hey,” he said to the roomful. Everyone’s eyes met his except Ron, who’d been ignoring him ever since the report of Malfoy’s freedom had been released. “I just wanted to let you all know I’m leaving. Grimmauld Place has opened up, so… I’ll just be packing, then.” Arthur looked relieved, but Molly seemed more surprised than anything. 

“You’re at least staying tonight, aren’t you?” she asked as she loaded an empty plate for him. “It’ll be cold, and there’s no one there to cook for you.” Harry shook his head.

“There’s no need, Molly, please,” he said, looking at the plate of food she held out to him. “It’s August, I doubt it’ll be cold. Even if it is, I know how to start a fire.”

“But it’s got to be a right mess, dear. Just stay the night and I’ll go with you tomorrow━”

“You don’t have to pretend you want me to stay. I know none of you want me here. I’ve overstayed my welcome. I get it.” Molly looked stricken, but nobody told him he was wrong. “I really appreciate all you’ve done for me.”

“It’s not a bother, Harry,” Molly said softly. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to owl.” Harry ducked his chin in affirmation, stifling the urge to say he hadn’t an owl and couldn’t afford a new one, then turned to leave. He’d reached Ron’s room when he heard hurried footsteps banging up the stairs. Turning around, he saw Ginny had followed him, looking panicked. 

“Harry,” she said, out of breath. “Can we talk?”

“Um, yeah, I guess so.” He had no clue what she’d want to talk about, but he widened the door to Ron’s room for her anyway, following her when she entered. She stood, looking away from him, while he started packing his things into the suitcase he pulled from beneath ‘his’ bed. 

“Why are you leaving so suddenly?” she asked as she turned to face him. Her brown eyes were pleading, and he wasn’t sure why.

“Because I have my own house. There’s no point in me staying here anymore.” He tossed the knitted sweater from two Christmases ago that was too small now in the suitcase. 

“But I thought, maybe…” she trailed off.

“You thought what?” He paused from tossing things in to focus on her. 

“I thought that maybe you’d change your mind, about us.” 

“What do you mean? You’re the one who broke up with me, Ginny.”

“Yes, I know, but I still thought that as time went on you’d realise you still━”

“Still what? Still want to argue?” He knew he was taking the frustration at what George had said, and the lack of denial about being unwanted, out on her, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“No, Harry. I thought you’d see that you still love me.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t. At least, not romantically. I don’t really know why at the moment, and I'm really not trying to be horrible to you, but I won’t lie about that. I can't pretend that everything is okay. It would only hurt you more in the end.” Ginny’s lip twitched and Harry thought he might gone too far, but she held back her emotions, planting a blank expression on her freckled face. Harry said nothing as she reached out to him, then put her hands back down before they made contact. Ginny whirled around and ran from the room, letting the door slam behind her. He’d probably feel bad about what he’d said later, but at that moment he couldn’t care less. 

Harry finished packing his things and went down stairs, not bothering to say goodbye to anyone before he used the Floo to get to Grimmauld Place. Stepping out of the fireplace in the basement, he turned and lit the old logs in the hearth ablaze. The light of the fire exposed the grimy kitchen area. The table was covered in a thick layer of dust and several stools were knocked over. Harry went to the pantry door and opened it, instantly covering his nose with his hands and staggering backward. Whatever food he’d been hoping to find was obviously rotten.

“Lumos,” he said, flicking his wand with the hand that didn’t shield his nostrils from the attack on his sense of smell. With another spell five sconces lit all around the kitchen and Harry was disgusted by how old and rotten the food in the pantry had gotten. He was sure that nothing had been touched since before the battle of Hogwarts, and it smelled like it, too. The mess was enough to make him briefly think twice about coming here so late in the evening. The empty pantry made him wonder how he was going to afford food until he could access his money. Stressed and anxious to the brink of tears, Harry pushed the thought of his rumbling stomach from his mind and focused on his filthy surroundings.

There was so much to do, but he started by vanishing the rotten food and the insects that were buzzing around and crawling in it. He wasn’t tired, at least, and he supposed he could get a lot done in the time it would take to clean things up a bit. All he could hope was that the rest of the five stories weren’t as bad as this, but he didn’t have very good expectations. 

Deciding the rest of the kitchen could wait until the next day, he went up the stairs, past the ground floor, silently using the scouring charm to rid the stairs of dust. The wood was still worn, with chips of it missing, but it would do. He entered the drawing room and frowned. Keeping his mind focused, he used the few cleaning charms he knew until everything was dust-free and more orderly. The furniture was ratty, and there wasn’t much he could do to help that. He’d have to buy all new sets of armchairs and sofas once his bank account was unfrozen. He supposed that someone more talented than him might have been able to fix it up, but it was much too far gone for him to transform it into something nice. 

Satisfied with the state of the drawing room, Harry cleaned the bedroom on that floor, along with the small bathroom, then went to the second floor and the master bedroom where Arthur and Molly had slept when they’d stayed here. Mostly the room was dusty, but he thought the bed could use a new bed set. Other than that he hadn’t much to do. He summoned his suitcase from the basement and began unpacking, choosing for this to be his room. At first he’d considered taking Sirius’s old room, but the thought of sleeping where his late godfather had stayed was too much for him to bear. He wasn’t even sure he’d be able to manage cleaning it. The wound of his death was not nearly as fresh as it used to be, but it hadn’t scarred over yet. 

Feeling as though he’d exerted himself and cleaned enough for one evening, he changed into his pyjamas. Lying in the king sized bed, he appreciated the fact that is wasn’t as lumpy as the one he’d slept on in Ron’s room, even if it did smell of mildew. He thought about his birthday, which had been the day before Malfoy’s hearing, as he turned over and tried to get comfortable in the bed he’d never slept in before. The only people who had wished him a happy birthday had been Molly, Arthur, and Hermione. Everyone else had ignored him as usual. Being eighteen didn’t feel any better than being seventeen had. If anything, it felt more awful. True, he didn’t have the stress of Voldemort to deal with anymore, but the unwanted attention from the public, the near-rejection of the only people he had left to call family, and his financial woes threatened to break him. Just the feeling of the Weasleys tiring of him hurt enough to give all of his troubles from the past year a run for their money. If he didn’t have the Weasleys, who did he have? He consoled himself with the fact that they didn’t hate him. He couldn’t deny that their general apathy at his departure had been hurtful, though.

He thought of all the things he’d need in order to be self-sufficient and wondered if it would be possible. The Weasleys couldn’t afford him, which was a large reason he’d left, so it would be out of the question to ask them for help. Hermione hadn’t spoken much to her parents since she’d restored their memories, and Harry and Hermione hadn’t spoken much since he’d refused to return to school. Asking her for a loan would be just as bad, even if he would be able to pay her back eventually. Sighing, he thought he may have to consider taking up the Auror job offer before he was ready to. As he fell asleep, he hoped that something would work out, because it seemed like everything was getting worse and worse as each day passed. 

<>

The Manor stood, proud and large, before Draco. As he walked slowly up the mountain bluestone path to his childhood home, he felt like the tall hedges on either side of him would reveal Death Eaters waiting to get their hands on the son of their betrayer. This did not deter him from feeling the joy that consumed him as he marched toward the doors to his home. He’d been held at the Ministry for nearly a month after his final hearing, forced to go through tests and countless questions that were supposed to see if he was ready to reenter society. He was thankful that he was no longer being abused and that they’d provided a room for him that wasn’t below freezing, healed his broken bones and cuts, and had given him clean━albeit unfashionable━clothes.

When he’d reached them, Narcissa opened the doors for him, a large smile on her tear-stained face. She drew her son into a very tight embrace and planted kisses all over his cheeks and forehead.

“Oh, Draco, you’re home!” she cried as she held his face between her hands. “You’re home!” He reached up and stroked her pale cheek, thankful that after all that had happened he still had his mother. 

“I am,” he said, unable to prevent the curve of his lips. When she ushered him inside, however, shock took hold of him. Most of their possessions were gone, leaving the foyer almost bare. “What’s happened, Mother?” he wondered in alarm. Her face fell as she began to explain.

“Our trials may be through, but the house is still under inspection by the Ministry. We’re technically not supposed to be here.” Draco felt his mouth fall open.

“What do you mean the house is under inspection? Mine and father’s imprisonment wasn’t enough? Where have they taken our things?” 

“Calm yourself,” Narcissa said stiffly. Draco’s mouth shut instantly at her tone. “Your father is a criminal, Draco. He owned many dark artifacts, and you have to remember that this was… his base.” Draco didn’t need to ask to know who she referred to. More softly she told him, “It’s not permanent. It’s just for a time. Once they see that the house is safe, they’ll give it back to us. The things they’ve taken are being held somewhere in the Ministry. We’ll get them back.” Her reassurances felt mildly forced, but he was too startled to question that.

“Give it back… Why would they be giving the Manor back to us?” Try as he might, he still couldn’t wrap his mind around what his mother was telling him.

“They’ve seized the house. It is under Ministry surveillance and temporary ownership.” Narcissa paused, giving Draco time to understand. “While I’ve been given permission to collect our clothing, they have wards in place that will notify them if we try to take anything else, or try to live here while they own it.”

Draco didn’t know what to say. He’d been freed from Azkaban, but finding out that his home had been taken from him had completely shattered any happiness he’d been feeling. Narcissa placed her thin hand on his shoulder, a comforting gesture that he couldn’t bring himself to appreciate, given the circumstances.

“Where will we go?” he asked, realising she hadn’t mentioned that.

“Well… Andromeda has offered for me to stay with her.” Her blue eyes looked away from her son and Draco knew that this was something she had hoped not to have to explain. “She has that infant, Teddy, and there’s really not much room there, but I can try to persuade her to let you stay as well.”

“She doesn’t trust me, does she?” he asked, his voice sounding harsher than he’d intended it to. Narcissa opened her mouth, but closed it again. That was enough of an answer for him. “That’s fine. I’ll find somewhere.” Draco turned away from his mother, but she followed him as he went through the now sparsely decorated halls. 

“I can still talk to her, Draco,” his mother said from behind him. 

“If you wish,” he said, resuming his pretense of the son she always wanted. He’d failed her enough times by this point that he refused to decline her offer. The guilt he had to bear now was more than enough. When he reached his rooms he felt his eyes sting. The entire lounge area had been destroyed. His personal items were strewn all over the place, in no particular order, and some things were even broken. 

“I’m so sorry.” Narcissa once again placed her hand on his shoulder, and although he did not want to be touched, he allowed it to stay there as he looked over his demolished quarters. “I tried to stop them, but they said they had to be sure that there was no evidence to be used in your hearings.”

“Thank you.” He meant that, but the pain he felt had seeped into his words, making them sound false. Trying to ignore the knot in his chest, he went to his wardrobe and opened it, finding most of his clothing still in hanging from the silken hangers. The black robes he’d had to wear as a Death Eater were gone, and he was grateful that he didn’t have to look at them again. He pulled his wand from his pocket, the feeling of holding it comforting and foreign at once, and summoned a reasonably sized suitcase. Opening it, he took all of the clothes from his wardrobe and piled them in, not bothering to fold them.

“Draco, they’ll wrinkle if you put them in like that,” Narcissa said from the doorway.

“Mother, I have much more to think about right now than wrinkled clothing.” As much as he tried not to sound bitter he couldn’t control the snappish way he’d said this. In any other circumstance his mother would probably have become furious at his lack of respect. When she did speak again, her words were devoid of any harshness.

“Come here, son,” she requested softly. Draco stopped as he was about to zip the case closed and went to stand beside his mother. She placed her hand on his slightly sunken cheek and he looked into her icy blue eyes. “You’re the man of the family now. You have access to our Gringotts vaults, and I want you to take as much as you need in order to see that you live comfortably. I can’t say how long it will take for the Ministry to give us back the Manor, but I can say that you will not want for anything until the day comes when we can take back our home.” Draco felt that stinging sensation behind his eyes that meant he was about to show weakness, and huffed as he looked away from his mother’s intrusive gaze. Narcissa was perceptive, however, and saw the tears that had threatened to fall from her son’s eyes. “After all you’ve been put through, it does not make you any less of a man to cry.”

“I’m fine, Mother,” Draco lied as he struggled to collect himself. When he faced his mother again, he saw the knowing look she sent him, but disregarded it. “Will I be allowed to take my cello?” He’d gone far too long without playing it, the one thing that he made him feel like a person through all the things he’d witnessed and been forced to do.

“Not this time, but I will discuss it with the Ministry. I’m sure they’ll allow it.” Draco’s hopes were dashed further, and nodding his head solemnly, he passed his mother in the doorway and began retreating through the Manor towards the foyer. 

At the door, his mother enveloped him in another embrace and kissed each of his cheeks. He didn’t want to let her go so soon, but he knew that if they stayed too long the Ministry would feel it necessary to investigate their lingering presence. 

“Buy another owl, Draco. I expect to hear from you frequently, though I won’t be surprised if the Ministry intercepts our letters before they get to each other.” Narcissa sighed, and even that was regal coming from such a proud woman. “Look for a room somewhere. Surely someone will accept you.”

“Thank you, mother,” Draco said as he opened the door for her. They stepped out into the humidity of the evening and both took one last look at their home before they each Apparated to different locations. 

At the bank the goblins had tried to give Draco a difficult time, saying that because he wasn’t his father, or that because he wasn’t accompanied by one of his parents, he wasn’t allowed to withdraw money from the vaults. Finally, after much arguing, Draco had been allowed to access one of the Malfoy vaults. He took out enough money to cover any needs or wants he may have for the next three months. Of course, he didn’t know if that was the amount of time he’d be kept from his home, but he didn’t want to wander around with too much money on his person. 

Money in his suitcase and a pair of his own clothes on, he went from inn to inn in search of a room, but as soon as the keepers of these places got a look at him they shook their heads quickly and escorted him out of the building. It was becoming apparent that he wasn’t welcome anywhere anymore, not that it was much of a surprise. Still, it hurt, going from being one of the most influential wizarding families to one of the most loathsome. 

Draco Apparated back from Hogsmeade to Diagon Alley, deciding he would get a bite to eat before he tried to think of some other place he could go. He walked past Eeylops Owl Emporium, thinking to himself that he’d stop there after he ate, when he was suddenly shoved against the storefront by a passing group of wizards. 

“Excuse yourself,” he hissed at them. He was about to walk away from the group, but they turned around and realised just who they’d run into. As it clicked that this was Draco Malfoy, the atmosphere about them went from offended to threatening, and Draco felt himself backing away as they approached him, closing in menacingly. 

“Aren’t you that Death Eater who got freed last month?” the burliest of the six of them asked. Draco had been about to say yes, but he didn’t feel that the title was his any longer.

“I’m not a Death Eater,” he barked at the man. 

“‘Snot what I heard.” The man stepped closer to him and poked Draco sharply in the solar plexus. “You’re that Malfoy kid, aren’t you?” 

“ _Draco_ Malfoy.” His hand felt his pocket for his wand, but before he could slip it out to defend himself one of the other men grabbed his wrist and pinned it to the window behind him. His memories of the Auror who had visited him most frequently out of all the guards flitted into his mind, erasing any sense of bravery he’d been feeling before.

“He tried to pull a quick one on you, Titus. Did you see that?”

“I sure did. Well, boys, what do you say we teach this young pillock a lesson the Muggle way, seeing as he thinks he’s so superior?” Draco shook his head in fear as he watched the man, presumably Titus, rub his fist into his open palm. He didn’t have time to move before the giant fist was thrusted into his nose. A sickening crunch sounded, along with a severe blooming pain, and Draco knew his nose was broken. He felt blood trickling over his lips and chin, but the group hadn’t finished with him. Another punch━ Draco couldn’t tell from whom; his eyes were closed━ landed firmly into his gut, and he grunted as he doubled over in pain. Draco huddled in on himself, doing all he could to keep the blows from sensitive areas, but the men kicked and punched until Draco felt he would lose consciousness if they didn’t stop soon.

“Hey! Hey, get off of him! What the hell?” The violence paused as the men turned to see who had interrupted their attack. Draco remained curled around himself, not looking up in fear that he’d be greeted with another fist to his already bloodied and bruised face. 

“This is none of your business, kid,” one of the men said.

“Yes, it is. Get away from him,” the man’s voice demanded. 

There was a pause and Draco looked up, finally, to see the men staring at someone Draco couldn’t see. But that voice was so familiar. The men promptly began muttering apologies and walked away, much to Draco’s astonishment. He watched the group as they walked away, wiping the blood from his face with his shirtsleeve. 

“Are you alright, Malfoy?” Draco turned to see that Potter was kneeling beside him. A concoction of emotions flooded Draco’s chest as he realised who had just saved him, yet again. Displeasure was the most vibrant of them all, but underneath the thick layer of that was appreciation and fear. 

“I’m fine,” he lied for the second time that day. Standing up proved very difficult, but he managed it without taking Potter’s proffered hand. Draco leaned against the building behind him, heaving in rough breaths, then pulled his wand from his pocket and got rid of what he could of the blood that drenched his face and shirt. Afterward he did his best to fix his broken nose and the rib he felt was trying to stab its way through his abdomen.

“You don’t look fine,” Potter said, now standing next to him, a full head shorter than Draco. “You look like you should take a trip to St. Mungo’s, actually.” 

Draco put his best sneer on, the one he reserved specifically for Potter, and spit his words like venom at the wild haired wizard. “Not everyone needs your fucking help, Potter.” 

“Didn’t quite seem that way at your last hearing,” he muttered, tilting back on his heels smugly. Draco didn’t really know what to say to that. Maybe the beating he’d just endured had knocked the witty replies out of his head, because he couldn’t think of one then. Potter sighed and ran a hand through his already untidy hair, making it worse. “Listen, I’m sorry I said that. Can we start over?”

Draco stared at Potter’s outstretched hand, wondering why part of him wanted to shake it and do exactly as he’d suggested. Starting over sounded like something he’d like very much to do━something he’d wanted since he was eleven years old━but his pride was wounded and he wasn’t sure how to respond. Slowly, Potter’s hand lowered and slid into his trouser pocket. 

“Alright, well… I guess I’ll see you later then.” Potter turned away, then, and Draco felt his stomach drop, but steeled himself against it. He watched as Potter’s form became more distant and a seed of irritation sprouted in him, causing him to jog after his enemy. When he’d caught up with Potter, Draco grabbed his shoulder and spun him around to face him.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re expecting out of this,” he said angrily. “But I’m not your charity case, and I don’t need your help, and I’m not going to thank you for what you did.” 

“I didn’t expect you to thank me, you giant prat,” Potter sputtered. Draco yanked his hand back from Potter’s shoulder and shoved it into his pocket to wrap around his wand. 

“Then why do you keep popping up at just the right moment, as though I need your help? You’ve already ruined my life thoroughly, don’t you think? Or was seven years not enough for you?” Draco didn’t know why he was acting this way, he didn’t understand why he had followed Potter, or why he couldn’t swallow his pride for one moment, if only just long enough for him to express how he really felt.  
“I was _asked_ to attend your hearing, something you’re starting to make me regret going through with.” Potter shook his head. “If you really think it was me who ruined your life then you’re just as delusional as I’ve thought you were all those years in school.” 

“I’m the delusional one? You’re the one who’s convinced there’s always saving to do, and I hate to break it to you, Potter, but you’re unnecessary and in the way more often than not. I don’t need you.” Why was he saying these things?

“Then I guess I’ll just let those men beat you to death next time, if you’re so keen on ‘taking care of yourself.’ Oh, and next time you need help not getting thrown in Azkaban, don’t expect me to be there.” Potter was shouting now, and people were stopping to stare. Draco wanted to get the last word in, but a haphazard group had formed around them and people were brandishing their wands threateningly. 

“This doesn’t end here, Potter,” Draco said as he turned on his heel and marched away. Walking through Diagon Alley, Draco thought to himself that he had right and properly fucked everything up. Why hadn’t he been able to push back his stupid, awful pride for just one second? Why couldn’t he stop being this person his parents raised him to be? It wasn’t who he was, but he couldn’t make himself act in a corresponding way to his real self. He was beginning to think he’d never be able to.


	4. Better Beginnings

Draco sat in a relatively empty Leaky Cauldron, thankful that there weren’t many stares to catch from the other inhabitants. In fact, nobody had seemed to notice that he was there, including the barmaid. It took him three attempts to get the attention of the waitress that was making rounds, and when he did she gave a startled jump at the sight of him. The look on her face was one of silent fury as she approached where he sat in one of the darker corners of the bar.

“What’ll you be having?” she asked with no inflection in her tone. 

“Just fish and chips,” he replied. He wasn’t sure what his options were, but there was no restaurant in all of London that didn’t serve that. It wouldn’t be nearly as good as the version his mother made, but it would have to do.

“Beverage?”

“Firewhiskey.” And she was off, not even having written down his order. 

Draco sat and waited for his food for far longer than it should’ve taken for it to be made, and with how busy the establishment was he gathered that this was a personal offense against him specifically. Just as he was about to get up and confront the waitress, the door to the bar opened and Potter skulked in, looking sheepish and glum. Draco stilled, hoping that Potter wouldn’t notice him there in the corner, but Potter must have felt his eyes on the back of his ratty head, because he turned and looked at Draco. Thankfully, he didn’t approach him where he sat, however, and made his way over to the bar and took up a stool there. 

Another fifteen minutes later and Draco still hadn’t received his food, which had him fuming. The fact that Potter kept ‘sneaking’ glances at him didn’t help. Already Potter had received a plate of food since he’d arrived, and two refills of his drink. Unable to let this go any longer, Draco stood up from his chair, letting it scrape loudly on the floor as he crossed the restaurant. The barmaid didn’t look up as he come over to her, but she noticeably tensed.

“Excuse me,” Draco said harshly. In his peripheral vision he saw Potter look over at him. The barmaid tried to look as though she’d just noticed him, but it was a bad pretense. 

“Sir?” she asked, sounding just as clueless as she was trying to look, which is to say not very.

“My food; I’ve been waiting for over an hour. I demand to know what’s taking so long, seeing as there are very few customers for you to serve.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said harshly, then pointed over to where he’d been sitting. “It looks like your food is there already.” Draco turned to look and surely enough, there sat his food and a glass tumbler of firewhiskey. 

“Is this some sort of prank you’re trying to play?” Draco asked in a low growl. “You think this is funny? Sure, go ahead, fuck with Draco because he’s the scum of the earth, right?” She flinched at his words, but held her ground.

“If you continue to speak like this to me, I’ll have to ask you to leave, and you’ll still owe for your order, so I’d watch my slimy tongue if I were you.” Draco let out a slow, long breath and gave his best effort not to curse her right on the spot for her insolence. 

With a flourish of his robes, Draco turned around and marched back to his table, sitting down heavily. Picking up a chip, he realised that the dish was cold. It seemed to have been cooked and set out to cool. He didn’t even have to wonder, at this point, if they’d been trying to cause him trouble. Using his knife, he cut the fish in two and saw that it was uncooked inside. They had really breaded raw fish and then just cooked it for long enough to brown the breading, then served it. Draco had now wholly lost his appetite. 

“They’re giving you a hard time?” Draco looked up to see Potter standing several feet away from his table.

“Not at all, they’ve been nothing but wonderful this whole time,” he responded sarcastically. 

“Sure,” Potter said, nonplussed. “Mind if I sit?”

“I do, actually.” He didn’t, but he wasn’t about to let him know that. It apparently wouldn’t have mattered either way, because Potter took up the chair across from him. 

“You usually eat your chips cold?” Potter asked, looking at his plate with mild disgust.

“No, I prefer to eat them raw. Don’t even bake them. Just frozen chips.” Draco thought he caught the sound of a snort from Potter, but when he looked up, Potter had reassembled his collected manner.

“I could complain if you’d like,” Potter offered casually.

“The last thing I need is your help getting a decent meal, ‘Boy Saviour.’”

“Well, I guess I’ll leave you to your cold chips and underdone fish, then.” Potter was clearly bothered, but Draco couldn’t really see why. It wasn’t like they hadn’t been at each other’s throats for ages. This is what Draco knew, what he was familiar with. But Potter had offered him a reset, and while he was tempted to accept it, something was keeping him from doing so. Potter still hadn’t stood up, though, and this made Draco wonder what Potter was on about.

“Why are you still here?” It sounded like he was being rude, but he’d been asking seriously.

“Sorry, I’ll go,” Potter said as he stood.

“Wait━” Draco reached out and caught Potter by the wrist. “I didn’t mean… I was genuinely curious.”

“If you must know, Malfoy, I was sort of hoping you’d take my offer seriously. When I━” Potter cut himself off to take a deep breath, then sat back down, forcing Draco to release his wrist. In a quieter voice, he continued. “When I saw you in court that day, I knew something was seriously wrong. They’d beaten you. That much was obvious. Pretty sure they didn’t feed you properly, either, based on the hollow cheeks you were sporting. You looked a right mess.”

“Thank you so very much for reminding me,” Draco spat. Potter ignored him and went on.

“I don’t know what you went through in Azkaban, but if it’s anything like I imagine… Nobody should be treated that way, Death Eater or not.”

“I’m not a Death Eater,” he said between clenched teeth. 

“What I’m trying to say,” Potter said in exasperation, “is that I felt partially responsible. If I had accepted your friendship at the start maybe things wouldn’t have gotten to the point that they did for you. And no, I’m not going to take full responsibility for what happened in the end, but I’ve always felt guilty. Like, if I had done something differently, maybe you wouldn’t have had to suffer as much.” Draco really couldn’t understand it. Potter, of all people, and after seven years of nothing but hatred for him, was concerned for his well-being.

“Why do you even give a damn? Not like you ever did before,” Draco sighed, shaking his head.

“Well, that was the idea. I wanted to start over.” Potter shifted in his spot. “Listen, it’s not like I’m saying we have to be best friends or anything. I’m just tired of constantly fighting. It’s exhausting. Surely you agree.” The last bit sounded like a plea. Draco was so close to saying that, yes, he did agree, but his voice was caught in his throat. He felt horrible for fighting with Potter, but it was all he knew, and with that in the way he would never be able to express himself fully. “You don’t have anything to say to that?” Potter asked, breaking Draco’s train of thought.

“We can,” he said hoarsely. 

“Sorry, we can what?”

“Start over,” Draco said, insinuating that his meaning was obvious with his snark. Potter smirked a bit, and Draco resisted the urge to do the same, keeping his neutral expression in place. 

“And how do you propose we do that?”

“It was your idea, how should I know?” Draco scoffed. When he looked down at his food, however, he figured that would be a good place to start. “I guess you could start by telling that good-for-nothing waitress that my food is rubbish.”

“I was under the impression that you liked your food severely undercooked,” Potter said jokingly.

“Sometimes I like to spoil myself, what can I say? Now shoo.” Potter narrowed his eyes at Draco, but stood up and approached the barmaid. He only spoke to her for a moment, and she’d been friendly enough with him, but when Potter turned around to return to Draco’s table she shot him daggers through her eyes. 

“She said your food will be ready, and better prepared, in ten minutes,” Potter said as he sat back down. 

“I’m pretty sure she’s not happy you just did that.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because she gave me a dirty look when you walked away. Thanks to you I’ll probably be getting poisoned. Good job, Potter.” Potter looked affronted.

“Because of me? Seriously? I’ll just go tell her to take your poisoned meal off my tab, then.” 

“You’ve got a tab? What’s the matter, too poor to pay for it outrightly?” Potter’s face immediately twisted in his offense and Draco wished he could take the words back, but it was too late for that.

“I thought we’d started over, Malfoy. Back at it with the nasty insults, are we?” Yes, he’d definitely struck a nerve. “Can’t keep it in for one minute, can you? Why the hell do I even try?” Draco had been wondering the same thing. Potter shoved his hand through his hair furiously, standing once again. He took a deep breath, as if indecisive, then walked off with a terse, “See you around, Malfoy.” He muttered something under his breath, but he was too far away for Draco to make out what was said. 

“Are you done?” Draco jumped, so distracted that he hadn’t heard or seen the waitress saunter up to his table. He looked up and was met with an impatient and disgusted look from the woman. 

“Yes.” He wasn’t, actually, as he’d not even taken one bite of his last dish, and hadn’t received his new order, but as he glanced around the restaurant he gathered that it didn’t matter whether or not he was finished eating. He wasn’t sure why he had been accepted in the first place. 

The waitress vanished his food, along with his plates and drink. He stood up from his table and left, thinking it would be nice to have a new owl, even if that would be his only remaining companion. He walked to the owl emporium and stepped inside the dark store. Thankfully the shopkeep wasn’t at the counter, so he was free to look around without feeling the heated glare on his back as he had been all day. The owls were all sleeping and Draco tried to keep quiet as he browsed the selections. He stopped at a cage which held only one, small owl, which was awake and staring at him with large, golden eyes. If the tag on the cage was correct, this was a Northern saw-whet owl. 

“Hello little one,” Draco said softly to the bird. The owl hopped forward a couple times, continuing to stare at Draco, and cocked its head. “You’re all alone, aren’t you? I know how that feels.” The owl hooted softly and Draco felt his heart squeeze in response. “Where have all your friends gone?”

“They’ve all been put in another cage.” Draco turned, startled by the man’s voice coming from behind him. “As cute as this one seems, he’s been attacking the others. He’s feisty, that one. Sorry, didn’t mean to spook you.”

“You didn’t,” Draco said defensively, feeling as though the man would kick him out at any moment. The mask he wore in situations he wasn’t comfortable in was in place and he hoped that the old man hadn’t noticed any weaknesses in him.

“I wouldn’t suggest buying him, if that’s what you’re here for. He’s injured several of the other owls and he’s not very people-friendly.”

“You’re not going to make me leave?” Draco felt confused. Every place he’d entered that day he’d been escorted out of, making him feel unwelcome in the only society he’d known all his life.

The kind-looking man made a face at him, as if to say the thought was ludicrous. “Why would I do that? I assume you’re a paying customer, and so long as you don’t try anything dodgy, you’re welcome here.” Draco didn’t know what to say. The only people who had shown him any kindness that day were his mother and Potter, and Potter’s kindness hadn’t lasted long. 

“Thank you,” he muttered awkwardly. He wasn’t used to saying those words, but he couldn’t deny that it felt nice in a way. Plus, he supposed this man deserved his thanks. Nobody else had been nearly as welcoming to him. 

“No trouble at all, Mister Malfoy.”

“Draco.” He’d come to strongly dislike his own last name, and so he didn’t offer it. It was tied to a childhood that disturbed him to think about, and crimes he hadn’t wanted to commit. The man nodded in response.

“And you can call me Enthir. Have any of the other owls caught your eye? We’ve got a nice selection of barn owls over there,” he said, pointing towards the back area of the shop. Draco glanced back down at the Northern saw-whet all alone in his cage.

“Actually I’d like to meet this one.” Enthir looked at Draco as though he’d lost the plot, but shrugged and kneeled beside the cage.

“If you lose a finger don’t cry to me about it. I’ve warned you.” After pulling on a thick rubber glove meant for handling owls, Enthir opened the cage and swung his hand in quickly, catching the owl by the talons. The bird’s wings pumped frantically and its under feathers began to rain down onto the floor of the cage. “Alright, alright, calm down!” Once the bird was firmly in his grasp the older man stood up and handed another thick glove to Draco and he put it on. “Careful, now. Don’t let his talons go or we’ll all be in trouble.” 

Draco nodded and held his hand out so he could take the owl. His hands were firmly wrapped around the owls legs right above Enthir’s hand, but when Enthir let go the owl slipped from Draco’s grasp. Enthir cursed and Draco felt his stomach drop at his mistake, but they both fell silent when the owl landed softly on Draco’s shoulder.

“I’d thought I’d seen everything,” Enthir said in awe. “He’s never been like this with anyone. Most people won’t even give him a chance after I explain what sort of temperament he’s got, and if they do they soon regret it.”

Draco laughed, feeling more light-hearted than he had in months. “I think I’ve made a friend,” he said, allowing his grin to spread. He stared into the owl’s shimmering yellow eyes. “Hi there.” The owl bumped Draco’s nose with his beak, causing Draco to chuckle once more. 

“Silver and gold,” Enthir said. Draco gave the man a confused look. “I just meant, you’ve got grey eyes and he’s got yellow.” Draco smiled again and felt the owl nipping at the top edge of his ear.

“You’ve just been attention deprived, haven’t you?” Draco asked, speaking in a slightly babyish tone. He wasn’t sure where that had come from. Surely he’d never spoken like that before. Again he gazed into the owl’s large eyes. There were flecks there that shimmered in what little light the few sconces provided. They resembled little stars, and suddenly Draco knew what he was going to name the bird. “How would you like to be Cosmos?” 

Again the bird bumped Draco’s nose, and he figured that meant he approved. Draco rubbed the feathers above Cosmos’ eyes and chuckled softly when the owl’s eyes became hooded, showing that he enjoyed the sensation. 

“How much do you want for him?” Draco asked Enthir, who was still staring at him and his new friend with an open mouthed smile. Enthir blinked, as though just now tuning in to the question he’d been asked.

“Five galleons should do it,” he told Draco. It was Draco’s turn to blink, then. 

“That can’t be right. Aren’t most owls over ten galleons?” 

“Normally, but for this one I’m willing to drop the price. You’ll be doing me a favor getting that one out of here. Not to mention it would be just plain wrong of me to overcharge you for a companion.”

“That’s… very kind of you.” Draco paused and deliberated thanking the man. He’d already used those words once that day, and he wasn’t sure he could muster saying them again. Draco thought that he’d like to say ‘thank you’ more, but his pride reared its ugly head and disagreed vehemently. 

“You’ll be needing a cage and food as well, correct?” Draco nodded stiffly and Enthir waved his hand for Draco to follow him. “This cage should suit him well, and the stand comes with it. It’s nothing fancy, but it’ll do.” Enthir took the simple brass cage and stand and set it near the register counter not far from them, then walked several feet from where Draco stood and grabbed a decent sized bag of owl pellets. Draco followed Enthir to the counter he went to stand behind and paid for the items, happy that the cost wasn’t all too expensive.

“Oh,” Draco said, realising they’d forgotten something. “I’ll be needing a cover for the cage as well. Something thick that’ll keep out the sunlight.”

“Ah, yes, I’ve got just the thing.” Enthir left the back of the counter and then through a door that Draco assumed led to the man’s living quarters. A moment later he re entered the shop area with a thick, black cloth that was embroidered with charmed, purple thread that seemed to dance over the fabric.

“That’s an interesting cloth,” Draco observed, lifting one blond brow in appreciation. 

“It was just lying around,” Enthir said with a shrug of his shoulders. Draco thought he heard a twinge of a lie in the man’s voice, but didn’t mention it. “Now, I’m not sure if he’ll deliver a letter. I’ve never tested him out before because there was no guarantee he’d come back. Would you care to send him out for a test run before you leave? Just in case?” 

“Sure,” Draco said slowly. He didn’t want to send anything to his mother; he hadn’t found a place to stay and didn’t want her worried. In fact, he wasn’t sure he had anyone to send a letter to, but Enthir had already gathered a bit of parchment and a quill. Draco tried to think. He still felt bad for the way things had gone with Potter, so he considered sending a note of apology. Again, his pride seemed to quell that notion, but he resisted it and decided it couldn’t hurt. Something in Draco was yearning to be a better person, to redeem himself for the horrible things he’d done and all the people he’d hurt. The person he’d hurt most of all, without question, was Potter, despite what he said to the man earlier that day. Without regard for what his pride was telling him, he took the quill in his nervously shaking hand and began.

 

_Dear_ — He furiously scratched it out. He definitely should _not_ start with _Dear._ How do you write a letter to your sworn enemy? Draco had only written letters to his parents, and on rare occasions his friends, before this.

 

_Mr. Potter_ — No, that wasn’t right, either. It felt strange and oddly formal, addressing Potter this way, but then, it was strange writing to Potter at all. Deciding against it, he scratched that out too, simply settling with Potter. Noticing the unsightly scratches at the top of the page, he hastily flipped the parchment over.

 

_Potter,_  
 _I’m not sorry, alright? About lunch, that is._

 

Merlin, what was he writing? He shook his blond head and continued, his head fuzzy as he tried to think of anything to write to the Boy-Who-Hated-Him that didn’t make him sound like a complete berk.

 

_I wanted to start by saying_ — what the hell was he trying to say? Damn. This was so much harder than it seemed at the start, and that was saying something. Draco stifled a groan as he set the tip of the quill against the rough parchment once more. 

 

_This is stupid. I shouldn’t be writing to you anyway, should I? I’m probably the last person you’d like to hear from right now, and it’d probably be better if I left you well enough alone. Part of me feels bad about earlier, and that same part of me wants me to say sorry, but it’s more difficult than I thought it would be. I guess that’s all._

 

He sighed as he placed the quill back in the inkwell near his hand. He read over the short letter he’d written and frowned. It was a poor excuse for an apology, if one could even consider it that, but it would have to do. Draco folded the letter, pausing before he handed it to Cosmos as Enthir spoke.

“Writing a love letter, there?” Draco gaped at the man’s question.

“A love letter? To Pott━to another bloke?” Cosmos shuffled his talons on Draco’s shoulder at his sudden outburst, but didn’t seem too bothered. Enthir held up his hands, as if in surrender, but there was still an amused grin on his wrinkled face. “What do you think you’re playing at?”

“It’s not as if it’d be the first time,” Enthir said with a croaking laugh. “I was only asking a question, Draco. You can settle down.” 

“Sorry,” he grumbled, looking away. Merlin, why did he get so riled up? He chalked it up to his short temper lately. Ever since finding out that the Manor had been taken, everything set him off. “It was just— it took a moment for me to think of what t o say. I’m not used to writing to— well, erm… nevermind,” he explained badly. He wasn’t used to this whole ‘telling the truth’ thing, and he had to admit he wasn’t very good at it, either. He realised that his reason sounded faulty, but luckily, Enthir didn’t press him.

“That’s quite alright, I’ve got all day,” Enthir said softly. “Now, if you’re finished, let’s see if Cosmos here has what it takes to be a true delivery owl.” He clapped his hands together and rubbed them, looking a lot more enthusiastic than Draco felt. As Draco handed the folded parchment to Cosmos he wondered if he should toss it and start over, but Cosmos took the letter in his beak and flew out of the open shop door. Anxiety clung to the walls of Draco’s throat as Cosmos disappeared from view.

“I’ll wait here, if you don’t mind,” Draco told Enthir. 

“Alright,” Enthir said, only giving Draco a slightly disapproving look. “Is this a contact that is close by? Do you expect him to respond quickly?”

Draco hadn’t considered that. Come to think of it, he didn’t know where Potter was these days. He apparently wasn’t living with the Weasleys anymore, but he’d never actually told him where he was staying. Draco assumed it had to be close by, since Potter had been in Diagon Alley not even an hour before. “Maybe?” he settled on.

“Stay if you like, then. I’m curious as to whether or not he’ll be timely myself, so I don’t mind at all.” He stood there near the counter, gazing absently at the quill and inkpot, when Enthir spoke again. “I’ll just put the kettle on.” 

Draco turned around and leaned his elbows onto the counter and listened to the quiet sounds coming from beyond the open door near the back of the shop. How would Potter respond? Would he even bother to? And if he did respond, was Draco meant to write back to that? Questions flew through Draco’s mind as he waited for a letter he didn’t know for certain if he’d receive. 

 

<>

 

Harry counted the money that he’d found when he’d been cleaning the house. He’d gathered twelve sickles, two knuts, and three galleons. That would at least be enough to buy a few day’s worth of food and to send out the job acceptance letter he’d written out for the Auror’s Department. Pocketing the money, he wondered if they’d still accept him after his refusal. He supposed that, since he hadn’t told them that he’d never work for them, that they might, and he was depending on that. If he were going to survive living on his own, he’d need to have money, and seeing as his vault was off-limits, that meant he had to find other means with which to survive. 

Now on the fourth floor, in Regulus’ room━he’d still been too upset to go in Sirius’━he headed for the stairs, taking them two at a time in his haste to shop for food. It hadn’t been long since he’d eaten lunch with Malfoy, perhaps little over an hour, but already he was famished. After not eating for two days the half of his meal that he’d eaten today had brought back his hunger with force. He knew he’d be searching for scraps in the pantry if he hadn’t found the little money he had, and was so enlivened by the fact that he could now buy food that he’d been completely distracted from the Malfoy situation. 

As he reached the ground floor, he heard a tapping on the front door. Harry completely stilled. Anyone who knew about Grimmauld Place wouldn’t be stopping by for a visit, and if they did they would’ve used the Floo. His heartbeat picked up as fear turned his blood cold. Maybe he’d been too quick to jump on moving to Grimmauld Place, he thought as the tapping sounded again. Not all of the Death Eaters had been rounded up, and Harry began to understand the weight of living alone. He took a deep breath and slowly, quietly, made his way to the door and peeked out of the looking hole, having to stand on the tips of his toes to see through. A small, grey owl pumped its wings as it hovered outside the door. Harry felt every muscle that had been tensed release and instantly felt foolish. He’d certainly let his fear get the best of him, being paranoid like that.

Harry opened the door and the owl quickly swooped in, dropping the small letter it held in its beak on the floor at Harry’s feet. He bent to pick it up and watched the little owl perch on one of the umbrellas in the stand nearby, apparently intent on waiting for Harry to reply to the letter he’d received. Harry reached out to pet the owl, but when his finger was only a few inches away the owl began trying to bite at it furiously, and he flinched, bringing his hand back to the letter. 

“Rude owl,” Harry mumbled, unfolding the letter. He read through the poorly written apology, and when he got to the bottom his jaw dropped a bit. Malfoy had sent him a letter? An apology letter? Harry had to admit it wasn’t a very good one, but still, for Malfoy this was a huge step forward. At least, he thought it might be. 

There were indents in the letter, like Malfoy had had written on the back, and when Harry flipped the parchment over he saw the first attempts of the letter that Malfoy had crossed out. He snorted at the scribbles which almost completely masked the words beneath. For some unexplainable reason Harry’s stomach flipped when he re read the short note. Perhaps he wasn’t wrong about Malfoy after all. Harry looked at the owl who was still eyeing him suspiciously after his attempt to pet it. He supposed he’d better reply before the owl got any more ideas. Summoning some letter writing materials he began to write a response letter, a smile playing lightly on his lips.

 

_Dear Mr. Malfoy,_ he began, chuckling under his breath.

 

_I appreciate your dreadful idea of an apology. I’m not sorry about lunch, either. My offer of starting over still stands, though I’m hesitant to remind you of it, seeing as you didn’t react well the first time. I’ll leave the decision up to you. I just figured I’d let you know that if you ever felt like coming around to not being an arsehole, you might not be too insufferable to have as a friend._

_Yours insincerely,_

_Mr. Harry James Potter_

_P.S. Where did you get this bird? He’s kind of a prick. If it takes my fingers off when I try to give this letter over, you’re going to owe me big time. Not that you don’t already._

 

Feeling awkward yet satisfied that he’d written at least a decent response, Harry folded the parchment and hesitantly handed it out to the owl sitting atop its makeshift perch. The bird took the letter gently, though, and Harry opened the door so that it could take its leave. Sighing, Harry figured he should probably go out shopping. It wouldn’t be healthy to continue eating all his meals at the Leaky Cauldron. It occurred to him, however, that he still didn’t know where witches and wizards got their food. There was Honeydukes, but they mostly sold sweets. Hell, how had he eaten here before? He had always had someone else to cook for him. At that thought, something finally clicked and he called out, astonished that he hadn’t thought of it before.

“Kreacher,” he said, and not a moment later the old, weathered looking house elf cracked into the room.

“Master Harry” Kreacher grumbled in his aged voice, seemingly not bothered by his summons. 

“I hope I didn’t interrupt anything. I was just, ah… well, er... ” Now that it came to it, Harry felt rather awkward asking Kreacher, who had only just appeared, and probably from the middle of his work, to cook for him. “Do you know where I could buy some food? I’m starving.”

“Kreacher would be glad to assist Master Harry,” he croaked in response. “Master Harry has not asked for Kreacher’s assistance in a very long time, sir.”

“Yeah, I, er. . .” Harry stopped, figuring that maybe it wasn’t the best idea to tell a house-elf that you didn’t need them. “I was staying with Ron’s family.” Kreacher looked up at the mention of the Weasleys. His expression was hard to read. Before the last time he had been at Grimmauld Place, Kreacher had, to put it nicely, disliked the entire Weasley family for their blood-traitor status. After Harry had given Kreacher Regulus’ old locket, however, Kreacher had seemed to at the very least quell his constant mumbling about blood and rot and filth. Harry had even thought that Kreacher had begun to like Ron and Hermione.

“Kreacher will prepare a meal, if Master Harry is hungry.”

“You won’t be missing the Hogwarts kitchens?” Harry asked. He didn’t want to steal Kreacher away from his work just to make him some food, but his stomach was rumbling its affirmative at the idea of Kreacher’s cooking.

“Kreacher is meant to serve master Harry first and foremost. If Master Harry wishes Kreacher to serve him, then Kreacher will serve Master Harry instead of the school.”

“That’s, erm... Great. Yeah. That works. Just, er, let them know that you’re leaving, though.” Kreacher nodded, disappearing with a _crack!_ And Harry smiled at the thought that he was finally going to have a decent home-cooked meal since leaving the Burrow. Perhaps living on his own wouldn’t be quite as bad as he’d thought.


	5. Fidelius Broken

More than twenty minutes had passed since Draco had sent his letter. Enthir had invited him to his living quarters, which were quaint and cluttered with magazines about owls and some that Draco thought were probably not made by wizard journalists. 

“What is National Geographic?” Draco asked as he looked at one of the many piles of magazines that littered the floor. Enthir crossed the room from the kitchenette and handed him a cup of steaming tea. 

“It’s a muggle magazine from the United States, all about nature from the muggle perspective. It’s an interesting read,” Enthir said as he sat in his worn wooden chair across from Draco. He thought that sounded incredibly boring, but didn’t say so aloud. “Are you sure your friend is going to reply?” 

“I hope so.” Draco frowned. If Potter didn’t reply, he was going to feel like a fool. He’d been wondering if he should have sent it in the first place, almost immediately after sending it. 

“I’m sure he will. I’m wondering if Cosmos will follow through with the delivery, though,” Enthir said thoughtfully. “He did seem eager at the start, but who knows? He’s a strange bird, that one.”

“I like him. I think he’s sweet.” Enthir laughed heartily at Draco’s comment.

“Well you’re the only one, then. I’ve still got my suspicions about him.”  


Just then Cosmos flew swiftly into the room and perched on Draco’s shoulder, dropping a note in his lap. Relief flooded Draco’s mind as he quickly opened the note. Irritation quickly replaced his relief. Did Potter think he was being funny? Draco nearly leapt up to scribble another note back before catching himself. Potter would probably think him obsessed if he were to write two letters in one day. Besides, he wasn’t going to allow Potter to toy with his emotions that way. He placed the note aside and focused on the owl in front of him.

“Well, I suppose he did a good job, then,” Draco noted.

“Certainly better than I expected,” Enthir agreed. Something in his smile made Draco uncomfortable. He seemed to be suppressing a laugh. “I guess he’s all yours, then.”

“What’s funny?” Draco asked defensively. 

“Oh, nothing,” Enthir said before sipping his tea. “Only, I take it you didn’t get the response you had hoped for?”

“It was just fine, thank you,” Draco fired back, incensed. The man still had a glint in his eye, but Draco ignored it. He didn’t need Enthir poking fun at him as well. Enthir, fortunately, dropped the subject.

“Well, I suppose that’s all, now that we know that Cosmos can deliver,” he said with a cheery air. “You’ll have much more pressing things to do than sit and converse with an old man like myself.” Draco’s sneer fell from his face at Enthir’s incorrect assumption.

“I don’t, actually,” he sulked. He hadn’t meant to say that, but it was already out. 

“Oh? You seem troubled by something.” He wasn’t too fond of Enthir’s attentiveness. 

Draco wondered whether or not he should explain his circumstances to Enthir. It wasn’t really any of the man’s business that he was technically homeless, nor was there any real reason for Draco to want to tell him. But then, Enthir _did_ live in town and was likely, therefore, to be connected with the local business owners. Something particularly old and Slytherin-esque peaked its head out inside of him. If he could just convince Enthir to talk to the barman at the Leaky Cauldron… No, he didn’t need any help from Enthir, or anyone else for that matter. Draco could take care of himself. 

“Not at all,” He replied, smoothing the front of his trousers and standing. “Perhaps you’re right. I should be going. Thank you for the owl and the company.” Draco turned to leave, thinking that this conversation was slowly going further down hill. He wrestled Cosmos back into his cage and snatched up the cover cloth.

“Well, I wish you nothing but luck in your endeavors, Draco,” Enthir said with a sigh. “If you need anything, feel free to inquire.” This was enough to make Draco pause, but a second later he turned and stepped out onto the bright street again. Darkness was starting to fall, even though it was still relatively early for the evening. Autumn would soon be on its way. He began to wander aimlessly, unsure of where he would go from here. None of the inns would accept him and he didn’t have it in him to look for a muggle inn. Draco didn’t know the first thing about muggle money. It was sad, really, how little Draco knew about being on his own in general. 

Looking around, he found himself in a wooded park. There was a small alcove near the tree line to his right and he thought that maybe he could camp there for the night. Transfiguration was one of his best talents, he told himself as he shed his jacket and made it into a reasonably sized tent. He pulled his shrunken trunk of clothes from his back pocket and brought it back to its previous size. Pulling out a few other articles of clothing, he turned them into a small mattress, a pillow, and a blanket. It would have to do, he decided, and after slipping on his pyjamas, he crawled under the thin covers. The bed was rather uncomfortable; a large hump in the mattress was poking in the small of his back, and the blanket was not quite thick enough to keep the evening chill from seeping in. Back before the war and his trial, Draco would have had a book or his cello to distract him from his discomfort, but now he had nothing but his thoughts. This left him rather disgruntled and lonely. Not that he hadn’t felt lonely as a child, but he at least had his mother and father. Now his mother was gone at his Aunt Andromeda’s, where he wasn’t wanted, his father was in Azkaban, and everyone else had treated him like something disgusting and impure, something they might find in a public toilet or on the bottom of their shoe. After being kicked out of place after place earlier that day, he realised just how unwanted he was these days. Not only had he lost the respect he’d once had, but he’d lost his place in wizarding society. The strangest part was that the closest thing he had to a friend aside from Cosmos was Potter. Of all things, Potter would be the one to stand up for him, the one to bother giving him a chance when nearly everyone else was determined to see him as a dangerous man, someone forever branded by the damned mark he wore on his arm. He wished there was a way he could rid his arm of the ugly blemish, but as far as he knew there wasn’t one. There were times he had even contemplated mutilating the skin there in order to not have to carry that symbol wherever he went. He still got the burning sensation, every once in awhile, and it would send him into a horrible panic attack. It had been happening less and less since the end of the war, but every time he remembered his mark he worried it would come at any moment.

Shivering, Draco cast a warming charm on his blanket and tried to forget about all of that. It wasn’t him. He wasn’t a Death Eater. He was a different man now, or he was trying to be at least. Change didn’t come easily, but as long as he kept at it, he felt he could be someone who would make his mother proud, finally. 

Draco fell asleep thinking of all the ways he would make his mother proud, if only just one time. He slept fitfully, waking at the slightest noise outside his tent. Cosmos didn’t help, with his constant pecking at the cage. When Draco felt the heat of the sun baking him from within his tent, his eyes opened slowly. For a moment he couldn’t recall where he was, but as it dawned on him he also realised that there were whispers coming from outside of the tent. Confused, he sprang up, his ears pricked for the source of the voices. There seemed to be a cluster of people gathered just outside. Draco’s heart rate increased as he thought about the people who had accosted him the previous day. Were more people back to attack him? Stupidly, another image came briefly to his mind; that of all of the Voldemort supporters whom he had betrayed. A second later, however, a camera flash sounded, and Draco slumped back into the dent his body had in his mattress. _Reporters._

“You reckon it’s really him in there, then?”

“Someone said they saw him set up last night in this spot.” 

“Keep the camera going, Bob.” 

Draco listened to the mutters, his glare focused on the peak of the tent roof. He wondered if this is how Potter felt, constantly bombarded by unwanted attention, and something in his chest gave way for an odd feeling. Did he just feel. . . _sorry_ for Potter?

“What’s taking him so long?” one of the reporters whispered, breaking Draco’s train of thought.

“Maybe he’s still asleep?” came the reply.

“Nah, seems too late in the day. Unless he’s had a late night, probably spent some time down on Knockturn with one of those gutter slags who’re always wearing their robes low and their cleavage high,” a man said, causing the group to laugh. Draco snapped. Ripping the tent flap open, he was instantly taken aback by a flash of white light. 

Stumbling forward blindly, he shouted, “What in Agrippa’s name do you people think you’re doing? Fucking preying on people just trying to get some rest!” As soon as the words left his mouth he knew he’d made a painfully huge mistake. These were reporters he was talking to, not just some group of juveniles. This was sure to end up on the front of the _Daily Prophet._ Instantly, the group bombarded him, snapping pictures and shouting over each other to ask questions.

“Draco Malfoy, is it true that your father forced you to crossdress as a child?” one reporter asked enthusiastically.

“What━no, why would he━”

“How does it feel to be trapped out of your own home?”

“Passersby claim to have seen you brawling with Harry Potter yesterday. What sparked this scuffle? Does this have anything to do with a lingering connection to the legacy of You-Know-Who within the Malfoy family?”

“I didn’t— I never—” The noise and flashes were beginning to give him a headache. He just wanted to get away from them all.

“Is your mother in hiding? Is she, perhaps, too ashamed to show her face?” Draco roared, slamming through the gathering to try and escape and magicking his things to follow. One more word about his mother and things were bound to get out of hand. The last thing he needed was another go at Azkaban. He ran for a while, and when he turned around the reporters were gone. Out of breath, he searched for a secluded area where he could change out of his pyjamas. He wondered if anyone had seen him running past wearing only pants and a slipover. He thought again of all his goals to make his mother proud and his stomach turned. Merlin, she was going to have a fit when she saw the papers. 

 

<>

 

Harry wrinkled his nose as he opened the desk drawer. Something, presumably the remains a once-living something, had found its way into the small box, leaving behind the putrid, sickly sweet reek of death.

“I think I’ve identified, the source, Kreacher,” he called to the elf, who was busy digging under the bed. Kreacher popped his tiny head up and approached Harry, his fingers holding his long nose shut.

“Leave it to Kreacher, Master Harry. He will remove it so that it will not bother young Master anymore.” Part of Harry wanted to protest, mainly because he didn’t think anyone deserved to be subjected to the smell for long enough to remove it, but his eyes were beginning to water and Kreacher was insistent. He gave a short nod and ducked out of the room, taking deep gulps of air once he had reached the floor below. Harry hadn’t intended on starting Sirius’s room just yet, but the smell emanating from it had begun to seep into the rest of the house.

Looking around, he had to admire their progress on the place so far. Where there had once been thick layers of dust, cobwebs, and general signs of disruption, shining wood floors and freshly polished lamps now winked at him. Since he was so efficient, Kreacher had done most of the cleaning, leaving Harry to try and redecorate. He couldn’t very well leave Grimmauld Place the way it had looked before if he was planning on staying there long-term. Not only was the decor rather ugly, what with the overly decadent fixtures and snake-themed everything, but it also brought back painful memories of Sirius.

Harry wouldn’t have wanted it to go if Sirius had enjoyed it here. What really pained Harry was the thought that Sirius was forced to live out the end of his life in the childhood home that he loathed. To Harry, all the previous decoration had an air of death, lingering like the odor still clinging to the inside of his nostrils. Of course, Sirius had been freed from the confines of Grimmauld Place for a short moment, but Harry almost felt like his godfather’s happiness had died here long ago. For that, Harry loathed it, too.

Harry didn’t have the decorative touch. Although much improved from the gaudy Slytherin style that Grimmauld Place so proudly wore, his style was rather bland in comparison. All the walls wore the same intricately designed paper that they had before, but now the repaired paper carried a pleasant cream color that complimented the lighter, less prominent shade of green that Harry chose quite nicely. He had contemplated changing the color to a smooth mauve, but upon applying the change in one room, was strongly reminded of both his Aunt Petunia’s style and Umbridge’s kitten covered walls all at once. Overall, just a good scrubbing of the paper and the repairs he had done had made a significant dent in the gloomy air of neglect that the house held. The fresh, yet similar appearance had given Harry a new appreciation for how the house must have looked in its prime; even in rooms where Harry hadn’t changed the colors, the emerald and gold paper gave a sense of regality, and the renewed fixtures stood proudly against their background. He had repaired the cracks in the ceiling and fixed the carpet the best that he could. He supposed that it would need replacing after he had access to his money, but for now he focused on other, more pressing issues. After a failed attempt at transfiguring the faucets and candlesticks to not look like snakes, he had given up on that project. The resulting faucet shape had the appearance of a deformed silver lizard. Maybe he would ask Hermione for help with it sometime.

“Master Harry,” Kreacher said as he entered the hallway. “Paper has come for you.” Harry thanked Kreacher and took the Prophet in the elf’s hands. As Kreacher sauntered off in search of a new cleaning project, Harry flipped the paper over to the front and nearly gasped in his alarm. There, on the cover, Malfoy was bursting from a shabby looking tent, a wild look on his face. In his summer pyjamas. Harry quickly began reading the article that had been written about Malfoy.

 

_A very interesting sight was seen in Ellington Park this morning, where a young Draco Malfoy, known Death Eater and blood supremacist, was found camping illegally in a ramshackle tent. When reporters came to the scene to request comment from Malfoy on his actions, the man violently attacked them and shouted various obscenities, revealing his Dark Mark in an attempt to intimidate our reporters._

 

At first he wanted to laugh, but as he kept on reading he started to feel terrible about the situation. How many times had he been in the news, his actions grossly exaggerated? Shaking his head in disapproval, but still curious, he continued on:

 

_The Malfoy home, as of May 6th, has been under temporary Ministry ownership, and we can only assume that, desperate for a place to stay, Malfoy went to desperate measures. Surely no one would allow the likes of him to stay in their establishment. There have been reports of his mother being spotted at the home of Andromeda Tonks, however, and it begs the question of just how isolated the young Malfoy truly is, if his own mother and aunt have refused to give him sanctuary._  


_When asked about Malfoy’s denial of housing, Madam Rosmerta, owner of The Three Broomsticks, says, “I wouldn’t give him a room if it meant I could own his family’s Gringotts vaults, not after what he did! It isn’t surprising to me in the slightest that he can’t find a place to stay, the murdering pig.” Rosmerta’s stance is an understandable one: after spending nearly a year under the influence of Malfoy’s imperius curse, used to bring about the death of Albus Dumbledore in 1997, Rosmerta is feeling a little stingy in regards to the Malfoy family, to say the least. But it isn’t just her; even those who haven’t faced the wrath of Draco Malfoy face-to-face are feeling a bit wary._   


_“He came in here looking for a room to stay in for the night, but I thought he looked a little dodgy,” says a local barman, who wishes to remain anonymous, probably due to fear of any backlash from Malfoy, as he appeared to be rather violent this morning. “I considered offering him the old attic room, but I don’t feel comfortable having him around my other patrons.”_  


_One thing is rather clear: despite his ministry clearance, the public is still feeling rather fraught and threatened by the presence of the young Malfoy in society._

 

As he reached the bottom of the page, he snorted in disgust. Absolutely despicable, this was. He couldn’t possibly believe half of what was written, having had personal experience with the Prophet’s lies. He quickly scanned the bottom of the paper until he found what he was looking for and his suspicions were confirmed. Of course Rita Skeeter would write such a thing. Why she hadn’t been fired yet, Harry had no idea. He felt a weight at the bottom of his stomach as he scanned the article again and stared at the photograph. There was a large crowd surrounding Malfoy, and he looked worse than when Harry had seen him the day before. As the photograph-Malfoy pushed his way past the reporters, the camera focused on his left forearm. The sight of his mark made Harry feel ill, but he also felt a sudden, strong wave of empathy for Malfoy. He couldn’t quite place his finger on it. Maybe it was because he also bore an irremovable mark of his past. Neither one of them had a choice in what it meant to the general public. To them, Harry was nothing more than a saviour and Malfoy a villain. No matter what, they would both always struggle to fight an identity that was pinned on them. There was a difference, of course: Malfoy had had a choice. But had he? Harry thought not. Malfoy had been branded at sixteen, after his father had failed to retrieve the prophecy in Harry’s fifth year at Hogwarts. Sure, Malfoy had indirectly boasted about his position at the time, but when he’d truly realised what that position meant, Harry had seen a big difference in the Slytherin. 

Harry could think of one thing only; he needed to find Malfoy. The only problem was, he didn’t know where he could be. Thinking quickly, he cast his Patronus and sent a message along with it, asking, or rather telling, Malfoy to meet him outside of Flourish and Blotts as soon as he could. If no one else would give him a place to stay, Harry would. As much as he disliked the idea of living with Malfoy, he couldn’t feel right with himself if he let the man go homeless. After all, Grimmauld place had so many bedrooms that Harry simply didn’t know what to do with them.

“Kreacher!” Harry called, jumping when the elf popped his head from round the corner of one of the doors nearby. “I’m going out, I’ll be back soon, I think. If you could, have a meal for two ready by the time I return.”

“Kreacher cannot do this,” said the now dejected-looking elf. Harry stopped in his tracks.

“Right. No food… er… just… can you nick some from Hogwarts? You don’t have to take much, but if you can then duplicate it, or something.” Kreacher appeared to think the matter over for a long moment, a long moment in which Harry felt he was wasting time.

“Kreacher does not recall a rule that restricts such a thing, which makes Kreacher glad; it will not be the first time Kreacher has taken food from the wizards’ school,” he said deviously. A rather alarming smirk twisted the corner of Kreacher’s mouth before he disappeared from Harry’s sight with a loud crack, leaving him to wonder for a moment what Kreacher meant by that. Harry stood still a bit longer just trying to understand when the realisation hit him: during the Horcrux hunt Kreacher had been able to provide food for them, though Harry couldn’t recall ever sending Kreacher shopping to stock the pantry. He didn’t have access to his vault then, either, so he wouldn’t have been able to even if he’d wanted to. Harry laughed when he thought of Kreacher ‘breaking into’ Hogwarts only to steal food for people he used to despise, but just for a second before he remembered the very important task at hand. 

Harry flew down the stairs and to the ground floor, where he tossed the front door open before Apparating to the bookstore. He hoped Malfoy would put his awful stubbornness aside and meet him there, but as Harry looked around he worried that this wouldn’t be the case. He could be thankful, though, that there weren’t many people out and about to gawk at him. That made being in public a bit easier.

Just as Harry was about to give up and return home he heard a hushed voice say, “Oi,” from behind him. He turned and spotted Malfoy peering at him from just inside the bookstore.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” Harry admitted, and he felt relieved, though he wasn’t sure why that was. “Can we talk?” Malfoy looked here and there outside of the shop, probably trying to see if any reporters had followed Harry there. “Somewhere more private,” Harry explained. 

“If you’re so insistent,” Malfoy said as he cautiously stepped outside of the shop, carrying an owl cage that held the same, very disgruntled looking owl that Harry had seen the day before. Harry offered his arm, which the blond took with little hesitation. They side-along Apparated back to Grimmauld Place and Harry removed the ward before opened the door to let Malfoy in ahead of him. He placed the caged owl down near the umbrella stand and gently placed a nice looking black cloth over it before turning to Harry and asking, “Where are we?” 

“Number 12, Grimmauld Place,” Harry said as he shut the door and walked past his guest. Malfoy followed him through the double doors which led to the dining area. “It’s where I live. Used to be Sirius’ house, but… I’ve inherited it. It’s not much, I know, but it’s all I’ve got.” Malfoy looked confused, but sat across from Harry at the very long table. Two plates of hot food appeared before them.

“Wow, Potter. I’m impressed. I didn’t know the Mudblood allowed you to have house elves.” 

“ _Hermione,_ ” Potter emphasized with a glare, “Doesn’t mind Kreacher, and he’s all I’ve got anymore… And she’s not here to know that I’ve got him working for me again,” Harry said softly. He wondered if he should bring up the article on Malfoy, whether or not it would cause an argument. It needed to be discussed if Harry was going to follow through with inviting Malfoy to live with him, though, so he decided the best way to approach the topic was to delve right in. “I saw what the _Prophet_ said about you this morning.” 

“Wait,” Malfoy sputtered. “They’ve already published━no, it hasn’t even been five hours since… Fuck.” It was obvious that Malfoy was upset, but he didn’t appear to be so with Harry, which he took as a good start.

“What they said was horrible, and I want you to know that I don’t believe a word of it.” Harry couldn’t understand why he felt the need to say this, but it was true nonetheless. Malfoy stared at Harry with embarrassment plain on his pale face. “But… You never mentioned you had no place to stay.”

“I didn’t think it was any of your business, to be frank,” Malfoy said with a sneer. No, this was not going to play out just like the last time. Harry wouldn’t let it.

“Cut the shite, Malfoy,” he said, sounding as exhausted as he suddenly felt. “We’re not in school anymore, and I know you’re not the same person you used to be. At least, I’m hoping. So you can drop the tough-guy persona and be real with me, alright?” Malfoy’s jaw dropped a bit at Harry’s words, but he didn’t look angry and didn’t spit a harsh response. Harry continued, seeing this as his only chance. “I know the Ministry’s seized the Manor. I know you probably aren’t welcome with Andromeda. I know that no businesses want you there. I know that you’ve got nowhere to go.”

“Yes, Potter, please keep telling me all the ways I’ve failed as a human being. It gives me that warm, fuzzy feeling inside that tells me just how loved I really am.” His snarky response lacked its usual luster, and Harry knew he’d struck a real nerve with the man across from him. He ignored Malfoy’s dramatics and got to the point.

“This house, it’s got a lot of extra rooms. I know it’s not grand and posh like what you’re used to, but it’d certainly be better than sleeping in that ugly tent. And it would offer you more privacy than a tent would.”

“Are you asking me to━ no, absolutely fucking not.”

“I’m not asking you anything,” Harry said more forcefully than he intended. “All I’m saying is that if you need somewhere to stay, you can stay here, but only if you can prevent yourself from being the git that you usually are. I understand that you hate me, but I’d stay out of your hair. It’s a big enough house that we probably wouldn’t even have to see each other, if we tried hard enough. If you decided to stay here I would try my best not to bother you.” Harry felt strange saying all of this to Malfoy, but he felt a lot better having said it. At least this way he could sleep at night knowing that he’d tried to help him out, even if he refused, which Harry thought he was sure to do.

Malfoy was quiet for a moment, staring at the untouched food in front of him. When he lifted his gaze to meet Harry’s, finally, he spoke. “I don’t hate you,” he said quietly. Harry was surprised that this was what Malfoy had said when he’d decided to speak. He’d been expecting a flat refusal, and for the man to leave him there with two unfinished meals, but instead he was given this piece of information, which he hadn’t predicted, and now didn’t know what to do with.

“You sure about that?” Harry asked with furrowed brows. “If that’s the case you were far from convincing yesterday.”

“Shove off, Potter” Malfoy said in irritation, reverting right back to the person Harry had hoped he wouldn’t have to deal with today. “I’m not going to stay in this filthy sty of a house. I’m not a damsel in distress, and you’re not my prince in bloody shining armor. If I was so desperate to sleep in a rubbish bin I’m sure I could’ve found one behind some dank Knockturn Alley━” 

“ _Enough!_ ” Harry shouted, slamming his fists on the table and standing. “There’s no way you’re actually this big of a tosser! There’s got to be some bit of you, somewhere inside you, that isn’t an arsehole. I mean really. You were harassed by reporters this morning, you have no-fucking-where to go, and when I offer you my house you act like I’m the one who’s in the wrong. I don’t get you, Malfoy. I really don’t.” Malfoy stared at him, and Harry could see a bit of fear in his eyes.

“Fine,” Malfoy said, seemingly put in his place. “If you’re so intent on having a tosser like me for company, I’ll stay. Not for long, only until the Manor is back in Malfoy possession. And I’ll be paying you for my stay,” he said firmly. 

Harry stared at Malfoy with a blank expression. He’d actually accepted the offer. He blinked several times, sat back down, then heard himself saying, “I don’t hate you, either.” It was a pointless thing to say, really. Obviously, if he was willing to share his home with Malfoy, he didn’t hate him. “I suppose, erm…” He realised he hadn’t even considered charging Malfoy rent, and wasn’t sure what would be a reasonable price. “Would twenty galleons per month be too much?” 

Malfoy’s eyes widened, and Harry almost dropped the price when he said, “Are you kidding me? I mean, if you really think this place is that much of a dump. Do you even know how much a galleon is worth? I was honestly expecting closer to seventy.” Shaking his head, he repeated, “Twenty galleons…”

“Well, sure. Seventy, then.” Harry didn’t want to seem like he didn’t know what he was talking about, but really he had no idea what renting a room here was worth. 

“I keep forgetting you were raised by _muggles,_ ” Malfoy said, still looking as though Harry were the biggest berk he’d met. “Fine, seventy then.” He reached into the pocket of his robes and withdrew the proper amount, then set the pile of gold onto the table. 

The two stared at each other for a long minute, when Malfoy suddenly started laughing, loud and guttural. Harry found himself smiling in a slightly confused way at the sight of the normally catty Slytherin showing such an intense display of happiness━at least, Harry assumed it was happiness. He had to say, Malfoy looked a lot better smiling.

“What’s funny?” Harry asked with a chuckle. Draco tried to keep himself from laughing and wiped a tear from his cheek that had escaped in his mirth.

“This is just too weird, isn’t it?” Malfoy said with a sigh, shoulders still bouncing a bit. “The two of us, sworn enemies, living in the same house. Oh, when the reporters catch on…” 

“Let’s just hope they don’t,” Harry said with a roll of his eyes. “But you’re right, this is a bit strange, now that I think about it.”

“Not kicking me out already, are you, Potter?” Malfoy joked, picking up his fork for the first time. Harry grinned. Malfoy was looking in much higher spirits that he had the day before, and especially in comparison to the photograph in the paper. “Not yet, but we’ll see how things go.” Malfoy’s grin slipped a little, and both parties ate in silence for a short while.

“Do you still have the paper?” Malfoy finally asked, picking the conversation back up. “I… haven’t seen it yet.”

“Oh, uh. . .” Harry was nervous about showing Malfoy the article, but he was bound to see it eventually. “Yeah, I do, hang on.” He left the table and fumbled around upstairs for a bit, searching for where he had left it. 

Upon returning empty handed to the dining room, Malfoy asked, “Thought you had a house elf, Potter.” There was that usual witty sneer hovering in his tone. Harry frowned and thought of calling for Kreacher to find it, but Malfoy lifted his wand and summoned it before Harry could open his mouth.

“Accio paper,” He called, and the newspaper came gliding toward his outstretched hand. Malfoy’s smirk reached his face as he opened the paper, irking Harry. Why did he have to be like that? A moment later, though, Malfoy’s expression changed to indignation.

“I didn’t—” He continued to read, his demeanor turning more and more sour with every passing second. When he had finally finished, he slammed the paper shut and tossed it on the table. He folded his arms in disgust, apparently at a loss for words. There was a violent storm raging in the depths of his sterling eyes. 

“I told you it was bad,” Harry stated, attempting to sound comforting. “And again, I don’t believe a word of it.” Malfoy gave him a look that Harry couldn’t interpret.

“Some of it’s true,” he said, returning to his glower as he looked away from Harry. “I did swear at them and I wouldn’t be surprised if Rosmerta said all those things about me. I _didn’t_ show them my— my mark, though. Not on purpose.” His scowl deepened. Harry didn’t really know how to respond. He supposed Malfoy was right about Rosmerta.

“Leave it to Rita Skeeter to skew the facts, though,” Harry finally replied. “I don’t think camping in Ellington Park is illegal, and from what I can see, you weren’t acting particularly violent. At least, not for someone who had been awakened by a load of reporters surrounding them.” Once again, that odd look crossed Malfoy’s features, making Harry a little uncomfortable.

“Why are you so eager to defend me, Potter?” He questioned snottily, looking Harry dead in the eye this time. Harry gulped and averted his gaze.

“I—” In truth, Harry didn’t really know why. There was something in Malfoy that made Harry think that maybe he was different, that maybe he deserved a helping hand. “I guess. . . I guess it’s because I know what it’s like to have nobody on your side. You forget, I had to face this sort of stuff for most of our fifth year.”

“I’m not only talking about this instance,” Malfoy said, pointing at the paper on the table. “What about my hearing? You defended me at every chance you were given. You even told them that I’ve never used an Unforgivable curse.” He didn’t sound upset, but genuinely confused. “I’ve never done anything in my life to earn that.”

“Well, it wasn’t lying. _I’ve_ never seen you use an Unforgivable.”

“But what about that time in the bathroom? I was going to—”

“You never used it. You didn’t finish.” Harry smirked at the dumbfounded look on Malfoy’s face.  
“You— you bent the truth until it snapped! That’s basically lying!” Malfoy spluttered. “I would have never thought it of you.”

“Well, believe it,” he said, crossing his arms.

“But why?” Malfoy shook his head. He clearly didn’t get it. Harry wasn’t totally sure _he_ understood it.

“Because— because sometimes when I look at you, I see a little of myself.” Harry wasn’t certain he wanted to tell Malfoy this, but continued anyway. “I see someone who was stuck playing the pawn for something way bigger than himself, something he didn’t understand until it was too late. I see someone who was taught all the wrong things in life, and is still trapped in this image that the media wants to make him out to be, someone who isn’t that person anymore, but nobody believes him. Maybe it’s stupid of me, but I couldn’t stand by and watch them throw you in prison for something you’d been forced to do━as practically a child, no less.” Malfoy looked stunned. His mouth hung open stupidly and he froze, blinked a few times, then looked away. 

Harry felt supremely awkward. He hadn’t really intended to tell Malfoy that, and his words hung in the air between them, making the room suddenly stifling and altogether much too small for Harry’s liking. He didn’t look at Malfoy, instead focusing on a brown oil stain on the wall next to the fireplace. Harry wished Malfoy would say something to break the silence, but Malfoy seemed just as uncomfortable, shifting his weight in his rickety wooden chair. 

“Enough with the poetic bullshit Potter.” There it was. Malfoy was back to his usual prideful, sarcastic manner. “Besides, you have no idea how I am, so stop pretending you do. I know why you really said all those things at the hearing; you saw me as someone to pity, just another person you couldn’t pass up saving.” Harry shrugged nonchalantly, even though his insides burned. He was determined not to let Malfoy work him up this time.

“Believe what you want, Malfoy,” Harry sighed. “I’m not sure why you asked in the first place if you’re so confident you know the answer.” Malfoy looked as though his steam had run out, appearing a bit more calm than he had at the start of his outburst. “If you’re done eating I’ll show you to your room,” Harry said, hoping the change of subject wouldn’t be disregarded.

“Fine,” Malfoy said, sliding his chair back and standing stiffly, not looking at him. Harry stood as well and led Malfoy upstairs, pausing before he began up the flight to the second floor. His room was on the second floor, and he didn’t think Malfoy would want to have a room right next to his, but he also figured Malfoy wouldn’t want to stay too far up, being the priss that he was and being required to walk up and down several flights all day. Harry backtracked and decided that Malfoy’s room could be on the first floor. 

Harry opened the door to the room Hermione and Ginny had stayed in when the Order had been living here. It was a small room, and was most definitely not as grandeur as what Malfoy was used to, but it would have to do. At least Harry had already done the repairs. He had a feeling that if he were to put Malfoy on any of the higher floors he would complain about it, and Harry did not feel like dealing with that in the slightest. 

“Here’s your room,” Harry said, ushering Malfoy in with his hand on his shoulder. Malfoy stiffened at his touch, but didn’t say anything about it as he entered what was now his bedroom. He began to unpack the suitcase he’d been keeping in his back pocket and Harry summoned the owl and cage, then left Malfoy alone to settle in.


	6. Renovations and Revelations

The room was truly distasteful, in Draco’s opinion, but for seventy galleons per month he couldn’t have asked for much more. Not only was the decor awful and overdone, but the room smelled like stagnant water. As far as Draco could tell there was no water in the room, but that didn’t make it smell any better. As he unpacked his things he thought about asking Potter if he could redecorate his room, make it a bit less atrocious. The thought of Potter reminded Draco of how he’d touched his shoulder earlier. The small gesture had sent an uncomfortable shiver up his spine. He struggled to wrap his mind around it. Potter’s hand on his shoulder shouldn’t have made him feel anything at all, except perhaps the urge to flinch, but that hadn’t been his reaction. Draco repeated the advice his father had given him years ago in his mind and ignored any thoughts aside from that. 

Cosmos began pecking at his cage, and Draco realised that he’d been in there for far too long. Crossing his room, he opened Cosmos’ cage and watched as he flew happily around the room, finally landing on Draco’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry I kept you cooped up like that,” Draco said sweetly to the bird. Cosmos bumped Draco’s nose, a gesture he was coming to love more and more every time the owl did it. Draco took the bag of owl food and poured a handful on top of the old and worn looking dresser. Only after he’d poured the food did Cosmos hop down from Draco’s shoulder and begin eating ravenously. It made Draco giggle, watching the owl eat; it looked as though he was banging his head against the dresser every time he pecked up a piece of food.

After opening the window to let Cosmos out for fresh air, Draco collapsed on the large bed against the wall. The pillow reeked of mildew. He made a mental note to purchase a new one, as this one seemed to be past the point of redemption, anyway. He was tempted to request a different one from Potter, but his pride prohibited it. It was embarrassing enough that he was forced to live with the man. He wasn’t about to request anything extra. Instead, he grabbed a satin button up from his trunk and transfigured it into a small, silky throw pillow. He made some attempts to remove the remaining mildew smell from the mattress and blanket and curled up on the bed.

Draco hadn’t realised how exhausted he was until he woke to the sound of rapping on his door. Feeling soreness in his back and neck, he got up from the uncomfortable bed and opened the door.

“I’m tossing out that useless excuse for furniture,” he grumbled to a puzzled Potter, who just stood there looking awkward until Draco exclaimed, “what?”

“Oh, er,” Potter looked thrown off, but quickly regained the little composure he usually carried. “Kreacher is probably going to have dinner ready in a moment, so I thought I should probably let you know.” 

“Oh.” Draco probably should have felt bad for his rudeness, but his brain was still too fogged with sleep and the irritability of being woken up to really care. 

“If you’d prefer, you can eat in here,” Potter said, crossing his arms in blatant unease. Draco’s nose had become used to the aged, moist smell of the room, but he did think it would be nice to step out for a while. It was cramped, and there was nothing to do in there. As a plus, he could use this as an excuse to tease Potter. There was something intensely satisfying about seeing the vexed expression Potter wore whenever Draco would have a go at him.

“I’ll eat in the dining room, if my presence won’t be too hard for you to stomach,” he said sarcastically. 

“Actually, I thought we could eat in the drawing room,” Harry said, seemingly unbothered by Draco’s unnecessary remark. “I haven’t worked on the dining room yet. Besides the dining room is so huge, and it’s just the two of us anyway.”

“Worked on?” Malfoy questioned, bothered by Potter’s lack of response to his prodding.

“Yeah. The house used to belong to Sirius’s family, but it hasn’t been used since…” Potter paused and looked hesitant, but finally settled on, “since last year.” Malfoy took this to mean the time Potter spent in hiding. He had briefly heard about the place when his father and his friends were searching for Potter. It dawned on Draco that this was probably where he’d stayed during that time.

“So you _were_ staying here, then?” Draco asked under his breath. He hadn’t really meant to say it aloud.

“Yes,” Potter replied tersely, squinting at him with something akin to suspicion. “So anyway, it hasn’t been fixed up since basically before Sirius’s parents last lived here.”

“I thought the Order of the Phoenix used this place as base?” Draco asked, both curious and confused. “How come they didn’t fix it up?”

“Didn’t really have the time. We were too busy sorting through all the nuts rubbish the Blacks kept. Not to mention, Kreacher was rather unhelpful at the time.”

“...Right,” Draco said. Apparently they hadn’t done a good job of the whole sorting thing, seeing how much ‘nuts rubbish’ was still left over. “Dinner?” he asked blandly.

“Oh, yeah.” Harry led the way to the drawing room, which was one door down. That would be good to know, as it had a rather large book shelf and he’d been missing his books at the Manor. A tapestry on the far wall caught Draco’s eye and he found himself approaching it with slow steps. The writing along the top announced ‘The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.’ Draco looked at all of the faces of his relatives. He thought that it was odd that some of the faces had been burnt from the fabric, but before he could ask Potter why this was, the name Malfoy caught his eye. Tracing the line down from his mother and father, he caught sight of his own face staring back at him in a fabric reflection.

“What is this monstrosity?” he asked in outrage. 

“It’s the Black Family Tree,” Potter said from right behind him, startling Draco a bit by how close he was. 

“Obviously,” Draco retorted with a scoff. “I meant _this._ ” He pointed to his face on the tapestry. “Tell me that’s not what I look like. If it is, then every mirror I’ve ever looked into has clearly been enchanted to protect me from my own hideousness.” Potter laughed, a thick sound that somehow set Draco’s nerves on edge. “It’s not funny!” he insisted, trying to ignore the sudden swooping feeling in his abdomen. “I demand to know who created this abomination.” Potter continued to laugh, harder even. In spite of himself, Draco felt the sneer on his face begin to transform into a small smile.

“If you haven’t noticed,” Potter said through his laughter. “Everyone on the tapestry looks ridiculous. At least your ugly face is on there at all, though I’m not sure that counts as a positive thing.” Draco released a sound of displeasure, but was soon laughing right along with Potter.

“Oh please, you know I’m absolutely gorgeous,” Draco retorted, fluttering his eyelashes dramatically, hands on his hips. “Nobody can deny that the Malfoys are good-looking.”

Potter merely shrugged and replied, “If you say so. I only meant that some of the people have been burned off.”

“I was wondering about that.” Draco ran a thin finger over the mark where Andromeda’s face should have been, frowning. “Andromeda’s been taken off and so has your godfather.”

“Oh yeah, those are apparently the people that really ticked Sirius’s mum off.” Draco couldn’t help but notice the slight tone of disapproval that coated Potter’s voice, despite his attempt to seem nonchalant. “Speaking of her, be careful not to make too much noise on the ground floor. She’s got a portrait that screams. Although, I’m not sure she’d be bothered by you, to be honest. At least, not as long as Phineas Nigellus hasn’t told her anything about you, which he might’ve by now.” 

“Why not just take the portrait down if it bothers you so much?” Draco asked honestly. Potter rolled his eyes.

“You’re welcome to try.” Draco didn’t understand, but Potter seemed as though he’d rather drop the topic. 

“Masters,” a harsh voice said from behind them. The two of them turned and Draco spotted a small, old, creepy looking house elf standing near the piano. “Dinner is served.” 

“Thanks, Kreacher,” Potter said kindly as the elf set two plates of food and two bottles of butterbeer on the table between the couches. “Ah. he’s already starting to know my tastes.”

“Why do you bother talking to that repugnant thing?” Draco asked, thinking back on all the times his parents had told him not to speak to the elves as a child. They always referred to them as ‘the help,’ and said that no Malfoy should ever stoop so low as to converse with them. “He looks like he’s old enough to have been acquainted with Salazar Slytherin’s house elves. Put the horrid thing out of his misery already.” Potter shot a mean look at Draco, but didn’t respond. 

They sat down across from each other on the matching black couches. Draco tried to avoid any of the rips exposing the innards of the couch, but it was difficult to do with how many there were. Potter seemed to notice his struggle, however, and hastily performed a repairing spell.

“There. Sorry, I haven’t gotten to fixing up a lot of the furniture yet,” he explained. “I’ve only just started in here, honestly.” He looked up and Draco followed his gaze, his eyes landing on the cracked ceiling. Sighing, Potter returned to his food and Draco followed suit. 

“While we’re on the subject of repairs,” Draco started, looking around at the faded floral wallpaper and weathered book spines, “I’m going to be redecorating a bit in my room. It stinks and it’s disgusting, falling apart at the seams, practically.”

“Be my guest,” Potter replied, and Draco was surprised at his lack of resistance. This was, after all, Potter’s house and very likely his permanent home, at that.

“Really?” Draco raised his eyebrows, half expecting Potter to change his mind.

“Yeah, have at it. I haven’t really done much with the place. Honestly, I’m just happy if I can get it to look like someone actually lives here and I don’t know the first thing about decorating.” That much was obvious to Draco. Half of the house looked like some baroque-era, posh old hoarder had owned it. The other half looked as if an old squib woman had attempted to redecorate it with a blindfold over her eyes. Potter gave him an encouraging smile and once again, Draco felt an uncomfortable twinge in his stomach. “Besides, if I really don’t like it, I suppose I can just change it back after you leave.”

“As if, my decorating skills are superb. You’ll soon be asking me to take my wand to the rest of the house, I’m sure.” Potter rolled his eyes and the two began eating in silence.

All of this was very strange to Draco. Not half a year ago, he and Potter were on opposing ends of a war, and now they were sitting eating dinner as if none of that had ever occurred, as if they hadn’t spent seven years loathing each other and making frivolous plans to get the other in some sort of trouble. It was disconcerting to Draco. Almost all his adolescence, it was something he could rely on, one thing that remained steady while the rest of the world shifted from under his feet: he and Potter were enemies. That was a fact. Potter, however, seemed to think otherwise, and it was unnerving. The whole situation━living with Potter, dining with Potter, laughing with Potter, not hating _every single moment_ with Potter━was unnerving. Part of Draco was glad for the change, but it was also somewhat terrifying. He had no idea what would happen in the period of time that the Ministry had claim of his childhood home, and he had no idea what was happening between him and his supposed nemesis. All he knew was that, as he found out more about Potter, he didn’t seem to resent his situation as much. 

Draco’s mind was wandering, and as it did he thought about all the times Potter had been able to find him, no matter where he was, back when they were in school. He took a bite of the cheesy mash before him and wondered why that was. Potter had been borderline stalker back in school, and it made no sense to him. After several long moments stewing on that question, he couldn’t hold it back any longer.

“You were stalking me,” he said accusingly at Potter, who froze half way between putting his fork in his mouth.

“Excuse me?” Potter said with wide eyes.

“At Hogwarts. You were stalking me. How?” Potter raised a single eyebrow.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Malfoy,” he said, lacking the usual sass he normally would’ve used. “I’m not sure I’d call it stalking. More like… making sure you weren’t up to anything shifty. Seeing as you constantly were, I consider myself justified.” Draco didn’t agree one hundred per-cent, or even fifty per-cent, with Potter’s use of the word ‘constantly,’ but he had to admit that he had been up to some rather nasty things in his time at school. Instead of commenting on that fact, however, he steered the conversation back to his original question, determined to know the answer.

“You still haven’t explained how you knew what I was doing all the time. I know you were trying to get into the Room of Requirement when I was in there during our sixth year. How did you even know I was in there?”

“Oh, erm . . .” Potter suddenly looked embarrassed. Pink heat began to trail up from the collar of his t-shirt, spreading up to his lightly bronzed cheeks, but he continued in the same composed manner. “I spent a lot of time in the Room of Requirement with Dumbledore’s Army, if you don’t recall. I noticed that you didn’t show up on . . . I mean, you didn’t show up to Quidditch matches and such, and I knew you were up to something, so I— well, I had a couple of elves tail you. I wasn’t wrong about you doing sketchy stuff, was I?” He blurted out defensively as Draco suddenly burst out laughing.

“You sent a couple of elves to follow me because I didn’t show up to Quidditch matches?” He couldn’t help himself. It was absurd. “I think _I’m_ justified in calling that stalking.”

“Again, I wasn’t wrong.” Potter continued to defend himself. “All those years of getting into dangerous situations taught me to trust my gut.” He scowled as Draco continued to guffaw, wiping his eyes.  
“Oh, shut up, Malfoy. It’s not like you didn’t act the same way. I must say, you dedicated a lot of time to coming up with lame taunts, trying to get under my skin.” It was Draco’s turn to be embarrassed, but he was quicker to come up with a scathing retort.

“Oh sure, a few good pranks are comparable to hiring private investigators against me,” he shot back, ignoring the warmth in his face and abdomen. “I find it odd, though, how your gut feelings inevitably led you to me, every time without fail. Perhaps in the future you might think to ignore your gut. Some might call you a little obsessed.” And with that, Draco gave a small smirk and a lift of his pale eyebrows, stepped away from his finished plate, and swept out of the room.

 

<>

 

The next several days had Harry wondering whether the other man was right. _Was I really obsessed with him?_ Shaking his head he decided that no, he was not obsessed with Malfoy, not now, and not in school. _Well, alright… in school, maybe, but not now._ And his obsession in school had been founded on logic; Malfoy really had been up to no good, and Harry was determined to ensure that nobody was affected by Malfoy’s bad decisions. Now, however, there was really no reason for him to be concerned about what happened to Malfoy. At least, he thought so. But when he delved further into the reasoning behind his actions of late━ something that was unavoidable, now that he was alone━he realised that he cared for Malfoy, and he cared about what happened to him. Why he did, he blamed on the fact that he felt pity for the once-upon-a-time malicious man and that they’d grown friendlier towards each other in the short time since Malfoy had come to stay. Well, maybe not friendlier, but Malfoy’s rude quips weren’t nearly as irritating as they used to be.

Living with Malfoy had been easier than Harry had originally expected. Malfoy usually kept to himself, sometimes in his room, but often Harry would catch him back in the drawing room, curled up on one of the chairs with a heavy volume from one of the bookcases in his lap. Harry didn’t know exactly what he had expected from Malfoy. He supposed that his snide humour should have grated on his nerves, as it so often had when they were in school, but either because Harry had gotten used to it or because Malfoy had been less antagonistic, Harry found himself less nettled by the small jabs that Malfoy more than occasionally directed at him. The only thing that really bothered him was that Malfoy still clung to his old prejudices, and Harry had to remind him on several occasions not to use the term ‘mudblood’ around him.

Sighing, Harry looked around the drawing room, which he’d been unconsciously spending more time in since their first dinner together. The rips in the sofas that Malfoy had accidentally made Harry feel embarrassed about three days prior stuck out to him. The quality of the furniture was hard not to notice with how bad of condition they were in.

“God, this place is a disaster,” he said. Taking his wand from his trousers pocket, he began fixing up the couches, stopping to manually stuff the foam back behind the rips now and then. Once that was finished he charmed them from their dreary black to a medium grey colour. Satisfied with his handiwork, he patched up the cracked ceiling paint and did his best to restore the faded oriental rug to a nicer state. 

Harry turned in alarm as a loud thud sounded, followed by the sound of screaming. Apparently Malfoy had finally upset Walburga Black’s portrait. To Harry’s surprise, however, her echoing cries died out, making way for the soft sounds of conversation. She was evidently never informed of Malfoy’s treachery, then. Harry left the drawing room and quietly made his way to the landing of the stairs, peeking down to the ground floor below. Malfoy was standing by the painting, picking up the troll’s leg umbrella stand he had knocked over and conversing casually, despite the look of shock still fading from his features. Harry continued to observe curiously, not daring to get any closer for fear that Sirius’s mother would spot him and begin her howling again. Harry made a mental note to get rid of that grotesque umbrella stand, since it seemed to be the main cause of the portrait’s upset.

“My apologies, Mrs. Black,” Malfoy said politely. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” Harry was sure he’d never heard Malfoy speak so kindly to another person in his life, and he found himself not disliking the sound of his voice when he wasn’t being snide.

“Not to worry. I only thought that you might be some of the scum that’s been hanging around my house as of late. Disgusting, treasonous beings. I must ask, though, what would bring a young Malfoy like you here?” Mrs. Black’s tone changed from disdain to delighted curiosity. “Did Bella send you? Goodness, I hope she has the place now. I could hardly stand it, knowing that my good-for-nothing blood traitorous son had returned. I wanted Regulus to inherit the house, but, well…”

“Oh, erm…” Harry understood Draco’s hesitation. How do you explain to a raving painting that one of her favourite family members had passed away at the hands of the enemy? “She— that is to say, er… I’m surprised that nobody has informed you, Mrs. Black, but Bellatr━”

“Pst!” Harry interrupted. Malfoy’s eyes met his and Harry motioned for him to come up the stairs. 

“I’ve got to go, I’ll talk to you later,” Malfoy said hurriedly to the portrait, and shut the curtain in her face before she could respond. 

When he and Malfoy were far enough away that there was no risk of being overheard, Harry explained why he’d called him from the portrait. “If you tell her what happened, we’ll never hear the end of her.”

“I didn’t mean to set her off,” Malfoy explained.

“Nevermind that, how the hell did you get her to shut up?” Harry asked, incredulous.

“Oh, well, she started screaming about filth living into her house and I just yelled back that I was a pureblood. That got her to quiet down enough to ask who I was.”

“Pph. Typical of you, using your blood status to weasel out of things.” Despite his scorn, Harry was smirking. Draco didn’t seem to catch it, however. He bit back a retort, apparently thought better of it, and shoved past Harry to return to his room.

“Hey wait,” Harry called back, careful to not to raise his voice too high in case Mrs. Black heard him. “What were you doing down there, anyway?” Malfoy gave him a calculating look.

“What’s it to you, Potter? I thought I was paying you rent for a reason. Or are there certain areas I’m not allowed, now?”

“I was only curious,” Harry replied coolly. He felt an odd mixture of relief and sadness at Draco’s sudden return to his usual, contemptuous self.

“Oh.” Draco seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, but continued. “I was looking for a bathroom, to be honest.”

“There should be one right on the first floor there. It’s the only other door after your room and the drawing room.” Draco nodded, looking tense. “And for future reference, there aren’t a whole lot of off-limits areas. Except for my bedroom, of course. It’s the one on the second floor, to the left. There are still quite a few rooms I haven’t worked on yet, though, so I wouldn’t really suggest hanging around in those. Also, don’t mess with any of the stuff in the unfinished rooms. Merlin knows what sort of dark stuff this family kept around.” Harry briefly wondered whether he should have told Draco this bit of information, but he ignored the small sense of doubt in the back of his mind. He turned to leave, but turned back almost as quickly. “Oh, and don’t go in the right-hand bedroom on the fourth floor.” With that Harry returned to the drawing room, leaving a puzzled looking Malfoy to stand in the hallway, staring after him with his arms hanging by his sides.

He wasn’t really sure why he had prohibited Malfoy from going into Sirius’s room. It wasn’t like there was anything particularly special in there, but the idea of Malfoy snooping around in Sirius’s things made Harry uneasy. His thoughts wandered briefly to how his godfather would have reacted if he had known that Harry was giving Malfoy sanctuary in his house. Harry liked to think that Sirius might have been proud of Harry, knowing that he was trying to help, but another part of him imagined Sirius’s face at the idea that an ex-Death Eater was living in what used to be the base of the very organization that had tried to put an end to Death Eaters altogether.

Trying to take his mind off of his godfather’s opinions of his decisions, he resumed his efforts in fixing up the drawing room. He charmed the wallpaper orange, then shook his head and tried a pale yellow.

“That looks horrendous,” Malfoy said from behind him. Harry jumped. He hadn’t heard Malfoy come in. He frowned, then looked at the badly coloured wallpaper and mentally agreed.

“What would you suggest?” Harry asked, slightly irked but genuinely curious as to how Malfoy would prefer the room to look, since he’d claimed his interior decorating skills were so remarkable. He would never admit it to Malfoy, of course, but he secretly hoped they were, because he thought himself no good at it. 

“Well,” Malfoy began, now standing beside Harry. “Since you turned the couches grey, and the rug has burgundy as its most prominent colour, I would recommend a nice shade of dark cherry, and the paisley designs could be cream.” Malfoy’s wand swished once and the walls became a lovely deep red, and Harry had to admit he was impressed. 

“Wow,” he breathed. Malfoy looked as though he wasn’t satisfied yet. 

“Now that we’ve changed the paper, the floor needs to be darker. This pale wood contrasts too much. A little contrast is nice, but you don’t want the floor to be what attracts people's attentions.”

“And where should their attentions be attracted?” Harry asked, momentarily distracted by the frustrated curve of Malfoy’s jaw. Malfoy’s face turned, and he felt himself blushing a bit at having been caught staring. The faintest hint of a smirk twisted Malfoy’s lips.

“I’m thinking perhaps the curtains.” With another flick of his wand, the curtains switched from their faded moss green to a deep black. He changed the picture frames and bookcases to match, and switched the floors to a deep, chocolate brown. Satisfied with his handiwork, he turned back to face Harry, a glint in his eyes, which Harry had just noticed matched the furniture exactly. He told himself that it hadn’t been done on purpose, and then glanced around the room to take his mind off of the thought.

“Where did you learn all of this?” Harry asked, his voice full of awe as he looked around at the splendid room.

“Come on, Potter, you can’t possibly think I didn’t develop any eye for aesthetics growing up in a Malfoy household. Why do you think I’m always dressed so nicely?” He had to agree that Malfoy usually dressed very well, but refused to comment on that.

“So, out of curiosity, why red?”

“It’s dark, so it makes the room look a little smaller. Plus, I’ve actually always liked red.”

“It… reminds me a bit of the Gryffindor common room.” Seeing the look of distaste on Malfoy’s face, he quickly added, “I like it. It’s cozy. Makes me think of home.”

“I’ve never seen the Gryffindor common room, but if it’s anything like I imagine then you’ve just severely insulted my magnificent interior design transformation.” 

“Not nearly as bad as the Slytherin common room,” Harry retorted without thinking. Malfoy gave him an odd look.

“When would you have seen the Slytherin common room?” he asked suspiciously. Harry knew he had made a huge mistake. For a moment he debated whether or not he should tell Malfoy why he knew what the common room looked like, but he figured that since they were still ‘starting over’ that he may as well be honest.

“D’you remember that time when Goyle suddenly knew how to read?” Malfoy’s eyebrows squished together in his struggle to remember. “That time, you know, when Goyle and Crabbe weren’t acting right, during Christmas break in our second year?”

“I do recall, but I’m wondering why the hell you do,” he said accusingly. Harry laughed nervously.

“Well, see, we thought…” He wasn’t completely sure how to explain and was beginning to think his plan for being honest was not such a good one after all. “We thought that you were— well…”

“Spit it out already, Potter. Eloquent as ever, I see,” he added with a dramatic eye-roll that his heart didn’t seem to be in. Harry took a deep breath, not looking at Malfoy as he plowed on.

“We thought you were the heir of Slytherin,” he finally said. Malfoy shook his head slightly.

“That still doesn’t explain anything.”

“Right. Well, we wanted to be sure, so Hermione brewed a Polyjuice Potion in order to turn me and Ron into Goyle and Crabbe to find out.” Malfoy was silent for a long time, and Harry thought from the look on his face that he might strangle him, but to Harry’s surprise, Malfoy threw his head back, laughing so loud that his voice echoed around the large room.

“You really are a fucking stalker, Potter! I knew Goyle couldn’t read, the git.” He choked the words out between his guffaws, doubling over. “If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were secretly in love with me all these years.”

“I— what? Fuck off, Malfoy!” This only made Malfoy laugh harder, so that he had to sit down on the newly repaired settee.

“Potter’s━in━love!” He squealed, banging on the arm of the sofa. “Potter and Malfoy, sitting in a tree…” 

At this point, he had begun laughing so hard that he couldn’t finish speaking. He was getting rather red in the face and Harry wondered if he ought to help him so that he didn’t suffocate. Harry didn’t understand why Malfoy found the idea so amusing. It wasn’t just a slight to Harry: Malfoy was laughing at his own self. As he stared at Malfoy’s shaking, crouched figure, Harry began to feel the corners of his mouth pulling and he gave in, chuckling along with him. The idea was, of course, absolutely ludicrous. But seeing Malfoy laughing like this, so full of joy and not the least bit guarded… he had to admit that Malfoy was really attractive. It struck him, then. Malfoy could even be considered beautiful. Harry abruptly stopped laughing and took a seat opposite Malfoy, trying to wrap his mind around his own feelings and wondering what was wrong with him for thinking such an absurd thing. Across from him, Malfoy had begun to calm down as well, but was taking much longer than Harry had. Once Malfoy realised how silent Harry was being, he seemed to sober up.

“Why so stiff, Potter?” Malfoy chuckled once more. “It was only a joke, mate.” Malfoy had called him mate. Harry ran his hands through his hair, trying to understand. “Are you okay?” Malfoy sounded genuinely concerned at this point, and Harry had to come up with something, fast.

“I— yeah, erm . . . I suddenly feel really ill. I’m not sure those eggs at breakfast were any good.”

“I doubt that,” Malfoy said, obviously not buying his excuse. “I would be feeling sick, too, if that were the case. What’s really going on? We were just laughing, and joking around, and now...”

“I dunno, then,” Harry stated simply. He wasn’t about to admit defeat. “I’ve got to go, though. I think I might throw up.” And with that, he hurried out of the room and into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

_Fuck._ He clutched the edges of the sink and looked up. His own blank expression stared back at him, bright green eyes sparkling from their ghostly background. It wasn’t a bad excuse, he thought, being sick. He honestly looked a little ill. Why the hell was he so bothered by the fact that he found Malfoy to be pleasing to the eye? Lots of things were beautiful and it didn’t mean anything about the person who thought so. Like a perfectly iced cake, or a harvest moon. Those were gorgeous things, and it didn’t make someone… gay… to think so. Harry sat down on the edge of the bathtub, rubbing his face. Why was he making such a big deal out of it? A soft tap at the door pulled him away from his thoughts.

“Potter?” Malfoy’s muffled voice came from the other side.

“I— I’ll be out in a minute,” he called back through his hands. He sat for a short while, trying to mentally steady himself. He needn’t panic. It wasn’t a big deal. When he finally opened the door, Malfoy was still standing outside it, looking concerned.

“Are you alright, Potter? You do look worse than usual, which is saying something.”

“I’m— I’m fine. I think I just need to have a lie down,” he replied, averting his gaze. The longer he seemed to look into Malfoy’s eyes, the more his stomach wreaked havoc on him, to the point where he was genuinely concerned that he might throw up. He felt slightly dizzy, and he could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage.

“You really don’t look well.” Harry was surprised at the softness of Malfoy’s tone. “Do you need assistance getting to your room?”

“I’m fine, I can walk by myself,” he said firmly. Malfoy nodded stiffly in return.

“Alright, well you should go and rest, then, before you spread whatever disease you’ve got to a healthy person,” Malfoy said with sass. Harry was sure that there was a film of concern wrapping around his words, but he was too distracted to pay much attention.

“I, er… thanks.” Harry stumbled slightly as he edged his way around Malfoy, who wouldn’t move out of the way and stared at him with worry and suspicion. When he made it to his room he collapsed on his bed and stared at the ceiling, wishing for the life of him that his mutinous stomach would settle. What the hell was wrong with him? Why was he having these thoughts and feelings about Malfoy, of all people? Malfoy, the teasing, antagonistic, blood supremacist knob that he was? _Was_ Harry gay? No, he couldn’t be. But then, why else would he be attracted to _Malfoy?_ Was it possible to like both genders? Even if it was, there was no way he did. 

He rolled over, stuffing his face into the lumpy pillow and trying to clear his head. He didn’t recall being interested in any other boys before now. Maybe it was just Malfoy. Or maybe he just liked the way Malfoy looked. He thought about Ginny, and how his feelings for her had begun to wane over time, and then more quickly. Was this why? Was he really—? _But I’ve always liked girls,_ he thought. It was true. He had been head over heels for Cho, and she had given him the same sensation in his gut that he had now, the feeling like his insides had suddenly turned into a cage of cornish pixies. _But it’s Malfoy. He’s such a prat. Why Malfoy?_ For a long time, Harry lay in bed contemplating all that he’d felt in the last several minutes, wondering exactly what it meant for him, and for Malfoy.

 

<>

 

Sitting curled up on one of the couches in the drawing room, Draco held a novel in his hands. He couldn’t seem to concentrate on the words, however, because his thoughts kept straying to Potter’s incredibly strange behaviour. It seemed like he’d gotten the joke, but then as soon as he’d started laughing he’d gotten eerily quiet, and had this look on his face, like… like he was scared, almost. Draco began to question if that joke had been appropriate, given Potter’s reaction to it. _Why should I even care what Potter finds appropriate?_ he asked himself. _It’s not like I ever have before._ But he realised that this wasn’t entirely true. He cared enough to warn Potter before redecorating his room, and enough to stop using certain profanities, though he caught himself slipping a couple of times. There was definitely a piece of Draco that did care what Potter thought, because he was acting in ways that showed as much. 

Maybe Potter really was in love with him, and that’s why he was so distraught by the joke. It would explain the reasons behind his age-old obsession and why he felt the need to save Draco at every opportunity. Not that Draco hadn’t been obsessed with Potter in return, but that was different. He wasn’t sure why, but it was. _It’s just wishful thinking,_ a small voice in the back of his mind piped up, and he could remember all the times he yearned for Potter’s attention back in their school days. 

Draco had had suspicions about his own feelings regarding Potter for a while now, but never as much as in the past few days. He remembered his father once asking him if he was attracted to men. He’d been about thirteen years old, and his father had asked him multiple times to keep all topics of Harry Potter from the dinner table, or from the sitting room, or during chess matches… or at all, and Draco couldn’t seem to follow that request. When his father had asked him, he’d become very defensive, going as far as to tell him he and Pansy Parkinson were dating just to ensure that his father never asked him something like that in the future. Despite Draco’s assurances, his father continued to warn him not to mention Harry Potter, or any other boy he might be particularly attentive of, around his mother. Then, in his sixth year, as he was going through the trials of being forced to kill an innocent old man, his own sexuality came crumbling down around his ears. It hadn’t been a long moment, not really, but the stolen kiss he had shared in the empty Slytherin dormitory with Theodore Nott had changed things. He remembered going back and forth for weeks after, denying any sort of attraction to men, trying to fight his own feelings in an effort to attach them in any way to women, almost accepting the fact that he just wasn’t interested in girls before jumping again to denial.

He _had_ dated Parkinson then, but quickly found her too obnoxious to be around for such long periods of time. She was demanding and rude, not allowing him to so much as glance at other girls and constantly expecting him to dote on her. He still hadn’t said anything to his mother after breaking it off with Parkinson, and wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d thought the two of them a couple for the remainder of his education. He had, however, inadvertently let it slip to his Aunt Bellatrix while learning Occlumency that he had kissed another boy. Draco couldn’t have helped the matter, seeing as she was constantly prying into his mind. She was quick to tell his father, but he, being as tactful as he was, never told his mother, and had demanded that Draco do the same.

Feeling his stomach clench at the thought of his aunt, he cleared his mind and attempted once again to read the page that he’d been stuck on for the last half hour. Try as he might, his brain couldn’t register the words he was reading. Snapping the book shut, Draco stood up from the sofa, returned the book to its shelf, and decided it was time to check on Potter.

He had just reached the top of the staircase when he almost thought better of it. Potter was obviously in a state and might not appreciate the intrusion. His worry wouldn’t cease until he knew that Potter was at least feeling a bit better, but he needed some excuse to check in on him, lest he wanted to come off as an overbearing motherly type, or inform Potter that he might care about him.

“Kreacher,” he said softly, hoping Potter’s room was soundproofed enough that he wouldn’t hear him calling for the house elf. Keacher cracked loudly into the hallway, bringing a grimace to Draco’s face with the noise.

“Master Malfoy?” Kreacher croaked. 

“It’s Draco, and could you possibly fetch me some ginger root tea? Pott━I mean… I’m feeling a bit nauseated. I think it might be just the thing to settle my stomach.” Kreacher nodded once and disappeared loudly. Thankfully Potter didn’t seem to notice the piercing sounds that came with the elf’s Apparitions. Draco stood awkwardly in the hall, debating whether or not tea was a reasonable excuse for his visit to Potter’s room, but then Kreacher had returned with the steaming mug and he knew there was no going back now.

After knocking on Potter’s door three different times Draco began to wonder if Potter had gone deaf. He stood with his head leaning on the bedroom door, now, knocking loudly in a slow tempo, growing weary of his seemingly failed attempt to check on his housemate. The door opened, and Draco stumbled forward, spilling the tea all over Potter.

“Shit!” Potter shouted, backing away quickly. “Jesus Christ, Malfoy, what are you trying to do? Scald me?” Potter quickly ripped off his shirt, trying to keep as much of the hot liquid off of his body as possible. Glaring at Draco, he turned and marched across his room towards his dresser to find a new one. Draco couldn’t help but notice the way the muscles of his back smoothly tapered into his waistline. He stared, unable to look away. It hadn’t occurred to him that Potter might be hiding such a toned body under his grubby clothes. He finally caught himself and instead focused on a dent in the floorboard beneath him, blushing furiously.

“I was actually trying to see if you were okay… Kreacher suggested I give you this ginger tea to help with your stomach,” he lied, rubbing the back of his neck with guilt. “You know, you could’ve just charmed the shirt dry.” Potter paused in the middle of putting his shirt on and shot another glare at Draco. 

“Ever had hot tea splashed all over you?” Potter said with angry disbelief. “Sorry I did things the muggle way, I know how much that bothers you, but I was a bit distracted.” 

Draco looked up in shock. He didn’t know how to respond. None of this was going how he had planned. Now, instead of making Potter feel better, he had soaked the poor bloke in scorching liquid and then proceeded to point out how Potter could have done things differently, adding insult to injury.

“I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing at the small hole in the floorboard that he was so intent on staring at with the toe of his shoe. 

“Did you really just apologise to me?” Potter asked quietly. He cocked his head to one side, as if somehow astonished that Draco would do such a thing. Draco felt even more warmth crawling up his face. He must surely be a bright shade of scarlet by now.

“Don’t look so pleased, Potter,” he spluttered, sounding more defiant than he intended. Standing there in Potter’s doorway was beginning to make him very uncomfortable. “I didn’t mean to, is all.”

“It’s alright, Malfoy.” Draco looked up, his storm cloud eyes meeting with a jade pair. “Really, it’s alright.” There was a painfully long silence where the two of them just stared at each other. Then Potter cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well, er, thanks for the tea, I guess.” Draco laughed rather inappropriately, just understanding how comical the whole situation was.

“Any time, mate.” 

“Why do you keep calling me that?” Draco blinked for a moment, not having expected that question.

“What do you mean?” Draco rubbed his arm. Did Potter not see them as friends? “Do you not like it? I can stop.”

“I— No, it’s not that.” Potter fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, not meeting Draco’s eyes. “It’s just odd, is all. It’s not a bad thing. I guess I just thought that you still didn’t like me.” Potter’s eyes widened, and he quickly amended his statement. “As a friend, that is.”

“I knew what you meant,” Draco said with a short laugh. The fact that Potter felt the need to specify spoke in volumes, though, and Draco began to wonder if his joke earlier had been closer to fact than fiction. “Anyway, I wanted to see how you were feeling. You certainly look a lot better than you did before.”

“Yeah, I’m doing a bit better. Still kind of queasy, though.” Something in Potter’s tone still made Draco suspicious, but he decided not to press it. The old mattress springs squealed in protest as Potter sat down on the edge of his bed. “I actually _could_ go for some ginger tea.” 

“Don’t expect me to get it for you this time. Though I wouldn’t mind seeing you ruin another of your terribly unfashionable shirts.” The sentence escaped Draco’s mouth before he had thought it through. Potter gave him a quizzical glance, opened his mouth, and closed it again. “You really need a wardrobe update, as yours seems to be terribly out of date and frumpy,” Draco continued, trying to cover for his mistake. Potter seemed to be distracted by Draco’s insult, thankfully. He called for Kreacher and a second later the elf appeared before him. Draco thought of the lie he had told the elf and Potter and hoped against hope that neither party would catch on, but luckily, Potter didn’t mention the fact that Draco had brought him the tea.

“Kreacher, would you mind bringing me a cup of ginger tea? I’m not feeling too well at the moment.” Kreacher passed a confused glance between Draco and Potter, but said nothing before Disapparating. A moment later, a cup of steaming tea appeared on the dresser, and Potter snatched it up with gratitude, almost sending it onto his shirt again.

“Careful, Potter,” Draco said in spite of himself. Surprisingly, Potter smirked.

“Yeah, I suppose you’ve seen me shirtless enough for one day, haven’t you?” He seemed to realise what his comment was suggesting and quickly added, “Is there anything else you wanted, Malfoy?”

“Er… no, not really. I guess I’ll check on you later.” Why had he said that? 

“That’s really kind of you, Malfoy,” Potter said with a genuine smile, but it sounded somewhat teasing, which didn’t bode well with him. Draco gently closed the door and walked down the stairs, feeling a little bit lighter. At least Potter had taken it well, his stupid blurtings.

Draco returned to check on Potter two hours later, carrying a hot plate of steak-and-kidney pie. He was careful not to lean against the door this time, and even hovered the plate so as not to spill it. Potter took it thankfully, but hastily closed the door. He stayed in his room all day, and when it came to be about dinnertime, Draco wondered if Potter was purposefully avoiding him. He brought Potter dinner, too, this time a heaping pile of chicken drumsticks and treacle tart on the side, which Kreacher had informed Draco was Potter’s favorite. Once again, Potter took the plate but quickly retreated back into the depths of his room. Draco felt a sudden wave of loneliness. He’d spent all day on his own, without Potter to tease, and the book he was reading, _Charmed, I’m Sure: Spells for the Socialite,_ was beginning to get a bit dull. He wondered whether Potter was going to be like this all day, and then instantly felt bad. What if Potter really was sick? Even worse, he wondered if he had done something to drive Potter away. Had he been too rash when he made that joke earlier? He shook off the notion, tossing _Charmed, I’m Sure_ aside and scanning the shelves for something else that would engage him. If Potter took offense, then that was Potter’s fault.

Even with that decided, Draco took one last opportunity to check on Potter before heading back to his room for the night, but based on the soft snores emanating from the other side of the wooden door, Potter had already fallen asleep.


	7. The Missing Piece

Golden rays of light streamed through the uncovered window in Harry’s bedroom. His eyes opened and the day before immediately shot into his brain. Groaning, Harry pulled his blanket over his head and squeezed his eyes shut tightly. Why was he so stupid? Why couldn’t he have just faced Malfoy and gotten over the awkwardness he felt around him? Two chances, he’d had, after Malfoy had dumped blistering hot tea on him, and he’d passed them up in fear. Fear of being confronted by the feelings he couldn’t seem to shake. 

“I’m not gay,” he whispered to himself. _Not that being gay is a bad thing,_ his brain spoke. _It’s just that_ I’m _not gay. And neither is Malfoy, so even if I was gay━which I’m not━I couldn’t have him anyway. Not that I even want him in the first place.’_

“Potter, are you even alive in there?” Harry heard Malfoy call out, knocking smartly on the door. “I’m actually starting to get a little worried.” What time was it? Harry checked his watch, which was still on his wrist. He usually took it off before bed, but he hadn’t even changed into his nightclothes before falling asleep the previous evening. He had simply stared up at the ceiling in the dark, alone with his thoughts, until he had fallen asleep. Half past eleven. How on earth had he slept that long? Maybe he actually _was_ sick.

“Potter?” Malfoy called again. Harry groaned in response. He didn’t want to get up, but he supposed he would have to face Malfoy sooner or later.

“Come in,” he yelled, not bothering to sit up. Malfoy made an odd noise on the other side, paused, then opened the door slowly.

“I thought you said—” Malfoy started, but Harry cut him off.

“I know what I said. I only meant without permission.”

“Oh. Right.” Malfoy stepped in the room, looking around at the high ceiling and elegant curtains. His eyes fell on Harry and his brow furrowed slightly. “How come your room is so much bigger than mine?”

“I didn’t really━why are you even here?” he asked, sitting up, now. He didn’t ask the question in a rude way; he was genuinely curious. Malfoy seemed a little hurt, however, so Harry continued, a little more kindly, “You don’t have to worry about me so much.”

“I’m not— I don’t _worry_ about you.” It was obvious to Harry that Malfoy was doing his best to sound snappish, but the feeling was absent. 

“You just said you were worried about me, though,” Harry retorted, raising an eyebrow.

“Just making sure you didn’t die, is all.” Malfoy tried to act casual, smoothing out his clothes. Harry noticed that he did this most when he was nervous. “I don’t know what the public would do if precious Potter croaked on us. They’d instantly blame me, I’m sure.” Harry rolled his eyes. There it was again, the ever-present sarcasm. Aside from, maybe, the last part. 

“Well, you know I’m not dead now, so problem solved, right?”

“Why have you been avoiding me?” Malfoy asked, suddenly changing the topic. He seemed almost… angry?

“I haven’t been avoiding you. I’ve been ill, you dolt,” Harry lied badly. He had been avoiding Malfoy, and he could tell that Malfoy was aware of this.

“Well, still, you’ve been odd… cold, even, and that’s my job, so you can stop any time.”

“I’m actually quite warm, thanks,” he said, gesturing to the blanket that was still covering his lower half. Malfoy’s face went vacant of all emotion, aside from the glare he shot at Harry. 

“You’re shoddy, mate.” He had called him mate again. Malfoy apparently noticed, too, because a slight tinge of pink crossed his pale cheeks.

“Yeah, well, takes one to know one, _mate,_ ”Harry replied coolly, purposefully inserting the endearing term. He paused. “Why do you call me mate but still address me by my surname?”

“Why do you still call me Malfoy?”

“You’re the one who started calling me mate.”

“I hate that name,” Malfoy said, swishing his wand and summoning a stool. He sat on it and crossed one of his long legs over the other, so that his foot rested against his thigh, then laid his hands gracefully against his leg. Harry pulled the blanket off and scooted to the edge of the bed, perched in a more attentive position.

“Mate? But _you’re_ the one who started calling me that.” Harry was beginning to get confused by the constant changing of topics, and he wasn’t sure what they were even talking about anymore.

“Not mate. Malfoy.” He pursed his lips, and a shadow crossed his eyes.

“Why?” Harry could tell that the subject bothered Malfoy, but his curiosity got the better of him.

“It just—” Malfoy sighed. “It reminds me of last year, and how I’m connected to all of this stupid riff raff. To me, ‘Malfoy’ always felt more like a title than a name, and not one I connect with anything pleasant. It reminds me of my father, and all the expectations that everyone placed on me, and the way the other Death Eaters would spit it out like some kind of poison. It’s a reminder of how I’m not good enough, how I never was.” He looked down and for a split second, Harry saw a man much older than the one who sat before him, one who had faced the consequences of war firsthand.

Harry felt ambivalent about the information Malfoy— or Draco, rather; after knowing how Draco felt about his own surname, Harry actively made the switch— had told him. He could easily commiserate: He, Harry, knew what it felt like to be seen as one thing and, no matter how hard you tried, be unable to change that. His own name had been used as a title rather than a name since he was eleven. To the world, he was more of a symbol than a man, and his scar only reinforced the idea with people. At the same time, Harry also felt a secret satisfaction that Draco was finally opening up to him, showing him who he truly was. That was a gift that Harry had never hoped to receive, and yet… 

“Well, er, Draco,” Harry said, smiling a bit. It felt weird sliding off his tongue, but was oddly gratifying. “I don’t think you’re very much like your father, and I don’t see you as a Death Eater. Not anymore.” 

“And… how do you see me, then?” Draco asked slowly, adding, “Harry,” at the end. There was something in his voice, almost like a plea, but more harsh. 

“I suppose━that is, I think that you’re━” Harry didn’t really know how to explain how he felt toward Malf— Draco. Damn. That was going to be difficult to get used to. “I guess, I like you. As a person. As a _friend._ ” God, he was a fucking idiot. He exhaled loudly and tried to force his thoughts into words without sounding incoherent. “I think you’re a lot more than anyone gives you credit for. I think that, inside, you’re a lot like me.” Draco snorted.

“But with much better taste in clothing.” Harry couldn’t help it. He smiled.

“Yeah, probably.” Becoming more serious, he said, “Joke all you want, Draco, but I really think there’s more to you than this snobby git you’re always trying to come off as.” Draco’s grin faded, and he looked thoughtful. 

“I like you, too, you know,” he said, meeting Harry’s eyes. There was something there, mingling with the silver of his irises that gave Harry the impression his statement held weight to it. Again Draco added, “Harry.” Harry ignored the butterflies rummaging around annoyingly in his gut and stood up from his bed, wincing in pain as his vertebrae aligned. 

“I need a new mattress,” he grumbled. He crossed his bedroom and pulled out the top drawer of his dresser, grabbing up the first raggedy tee he could find and old pair of jeans. Draco looked like he wanted to comment, but fortunately refrained from doing so. Instead Draco stepped closer to Harry and his bed, waved his wand, and verbally placed a cushioning charm on the mattress. 

“That should help a little, at least. If you want, I could get you another mattress,” Draco said thoughtfully. “You’ll be paying me back, of course.” The last sentence was more forceful, as though Draco had only added it as an afterthought. 

“That’s okay, I think I can manage until I get the job acceptance letter from the Auror Department,” Harry said, feeling a bit strange about the Slytherin’s helpful offer. 

Draco wasn’t supposed to be generous. He wasn’t supposed to be kind to Harry, and he certainly wasn’t supposed to put cushioning charms on his mattress. Not that Harry wanted him to revert to his past behaviour; it was rather nice seeing this side of Draco. He only wished he understood why Draco was acting this way and doing these things. Remembering the clothes in his hands, Harry cleared his throat and lifted them so Draco could see, signifying that he was waiting patiently for him to leave, but, after a few seconds, assumed that he didn’t get the hint.

“Uh, Draco…” Draco looked up, caught sight of the clothes in Harry’s grip, and jumped up.

“Oh!” He hurried out of the room, embarrassment still tinting his cheeks. 

Harry dressed slowly, trying to wrap his mind around the strange conversation they’d just had, but was distracted by the loud rumbling of his stomach. Because he’d slept so late, he’d probably missed breakfast, but he made his way down to the basement anyway. Grabbing two slices of bread from the pantry, Harry began making toast, hoping that would fill his stomach enough until lunch. The Floo activated, causing Harry to jump and nearly drop the butter knife he held. When he turned around, Molly and George Weasley were stepping through the hearth and into the kitchen. 

“Harry!” Molly said cheerfully before crossing the room and wrapping him in a tight hug. “How have you been, dear? I’ve been worried about you, you know. You never sent any word about how you’re doing.” As she stepped away from the raven-haired wizard, he saw that her look of excitement had turned into one of disapproval. 

“Sorry, I’ve been…” Busy? Distracted by Draco? “Cleaning a lot,” he settled on. “And I don’t have an owl.” Molly tsked. 

“There’s the post office,” George pointed out. He looked around the kitchen, and seemed to approve of the state of it. “Not quite the trash heap it was before,” he mumbled in appreciation. Molly gave a soft pat on George’s arm and glared at him in the way Harry had seen her do every time her children misbehaved.

“Yeah, Kreacher’s been helping out a lot.” Molly looked rather surprised at that. Harry had forgotten that she hadn’t been there to see Kreacher’s change after being given Regulus’ locket. He took a bite of his toast, unable to distract himself from his empty stomach. Molly looked at the toast in his hand and gasped as though she’d just remembered something important.

“Food,” she said, crossing to the pantry. “Oh, goodness, there’s not nearly enough! I was afraid you’d starve to death here, with your vault being unreachable. Why didn’t you ask me for help, Harry dear?” He could’ve said that they were just as badly off as he was, but that wasn’t the case. At least they had access to the money they owned, even if it wasn’t much. 

“I didn’t want to bother you, after all you’d done for me already.”

“Nonsense. We’re family, Harry. If you need help, you should say so.” Molly patted her robes and then pulled out a piece of parchment. “Ginny left this for you,” she said, handing the paper to him. Harry eyed it suspiciously.

“What is it?” 

“I don’t know, she’s asked me not to read it.” Harry still didn’t open it, and instead put the folded paper in the front pocket of his denims. 

“Probably just letting you know she’s got three boyfriends now,” George said with a smirk. “Since school started I hear she’s gotten quite popular with the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws.”

“George!” Molly admonished. “That’s impossible, anyway; she gave me this before school had started, so keep your tasteless humour to yourself before I send you back to the Burrow.”

“Er… alright,” Harry said, feeling uncomfortable with the situation. “She could’ve just owled me,” he pointed out. “Thank you, anyway.” The three stood uncomfortably in the kitchen, and Harry thought about inviting them upstairs, but didn’t want to risk her running into Draco. He didn’t want to have to explain why Draco was living with him, not after what happened at the trial. “Would you like a some tea?” he asked, finally, when the silence had stretched too long.

“Oh, that would be wonderful, dear. There’s so much we need to catch up on. Why don’t we go up to the drawing room and have a chat?” Panic rushed through Harry’s blood.

“No!” he exclaimed, then at the shocked look on her face said, “It’s still under repair. There’s, erm, mold. And rot.” Molly scoffed.

“So then it’s just as bad as before,” George said with a slight laugh. Harry was glad he was able to laugh, now, but it still didn't sound right. It didn’t sound like George’s laugh, more like someone else was laughing for him so he didn’t have to. “Come on, then, mum’s made me skip breakfast. Tea sounds great!”

“I did not make you skip breakfast,” Molly said shrilly. “You skipped breakfast yourself when you refused to come downstairs!” 

George shook his head, then began walking towards the stairs. When he passed Harry, he whispered, “She made me,” and then began climbing up.

It was obvious that they weren’t going to listen to him, and he considered making up a better excuse, but had already given one bad one and didn’t want to make it worse. Molly started up the stairs and Harry followed after her, hoping that this would be one of the rare times Draco wasn’t in the drawing room reading. They passed through the first upper floor and Molly had a look around.

“This is very nice, Harry! It looks so much more… livable than it did. You’ve done a wonderful job fixing this place up.” She paused, looking like she was considering whether or not to say her next words, but then said, “Sirius would be proud of you.” 

“Thank you,” he said, unsure of if that was true or not, since he had an ex-Death Eater in his home. Molly continued up the stairs and to the french doors leading to the drawing room, which were closed, giving Harry no peace of mind. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to have tea in the dining room?” he asked, his voice cracking. He had a gut feeling that the drawing room wasn’t empty, and really did not want to have the conversation they were bound to if it wasn’t.

“No, I’d rather be in the drawing room, if that’s alright, dear. The dining room’s a bit formal. Besides, it always feels so empty without the rest of the Order here.” Molly wore a sort of sad expression at that, and Harry wondered if she had been in touch with any of the Order members since the Battle. What was left of them, anyway. He hesitantly pushed open the doors to the drawing room, peeking for any sign of Draco. To Harry’s surprise and relief, Draco wasn’t there. Molly gasped at the renovated space.

“Oh, it’s lovely! Is this why you were acting dodgy? I didn’t know you had put so much work into it already!” She looked around, apparently flabbergasted, and part of Harry wished he could tell Molly that it wasn’t his work. He felt awkward about receiving credit for Draco’s skill, but brushed the feeling aside.

“Yeah, there’s still a little more to do. I was kind of keeping it a surprise.” Harry dragged his foot on the floor nervously.

“It’s lovely, dear,” Molly said, embracing him.

“Yeah, didn’t know you were much of a decorator,” George added. He looked around at the walls, which had been stripped of a few paintings. “Didn’t toss out the old family tree, I see.”

“Nah. Couldn’t remove it,” he said, keeping silent his thoughts on how hilarious it was every time Draco looked over at it and scowled at his own face. 

“Eh. Figures,” George shrugged. Molly was still gawking at the repaired furniture and neat wallpaper. Harry wasn’t sure exactly what to do. He had never hosted before.

“Er, go ahead and sit down,” He said, realising as soon as it left his mouth that it sounded vaguely like an order. He quickly added, “Make yourself comfortable.” The two Weasleys gladly took up one of the sofas and Harry called for Kreacher.

“Yes, Master Harry?” Molly stared at Kreacher in shock. She had never seen him so clean and responsive.

“I was wondering if you could get us some tea, please.” Kreacher gave Molly and George a strange look, but thankfully said nothing. He merely Disapparated, reappearing moments later at the doorway, carrying a tray laden with teacups and biscuits. Keacher set the tray down on the cherry wood table that Draco had transfigured from a small chip of wood, bowed, and left them to enjoy each other’s company. Harry settled down on the sofa opposite Molly and George, grabbing a biscuit.

“My, my,” Molly said softly in awe. “He certainly has changed.” 

“Yeah,” added George. “He doesn’t start furiously muttering every time he sees us anymore. How kind of him.”

“I can’t tell if you’re serious,” Harry said with a laugh. “But yeah, he’s improved a lot since I gave him that locket.”

“Locket? What locket?”

Harry didn’t quite feel like bringing their day down with Regulus’ tale, so he simply said, “It was something of Regulus’. Sirius’ brother. He was apparently really attached. It’s a long story. Ever since I gave him that locket, though, he’s been a lot more tolerable to be around. It also helped that I was nice to him.” Harry’s conscience twinged at the idea of not setting them straight about Regulus, but he eased it by telling himself that he would explain later.

“Apparently,” Molly said. Her face became more serious when she spoke next. “Ron was hoping to see you before he left for school, you know. I think he wanted to patch things up.” 

“He could’ve easily stopped by, if that were the case.” He wasn’t still mad at Ron, though his best friend had hurt his feelings by ignoring him, but he thought it ridiculous that Ron had wanted to see him and then hadn’t. “He knows where I’m living.” 

“Maybe he was afraid you’d profess your love to him, and he’d have to let you down easy,” George joked. Harry felt himself becoming defensive, but remembered what had happened the last time he’d overreacted to one of George’s jokes about his closeness with Ron.

“Yeah, maybe. Wouldn’t put it past him, honestly.” Harry thought that wasn’t the proper answer, if George’s face was anything to go by. A moment later, however, Harry noticed that George wasn’t looking at him and followed his gaze.

“Are you talking to to yourself in here, Harr━” Draco’s voice came from the doorway, but halted. Harry’s heart plummeted at the sight of the blond at the entrance to the drawing room.

“What’s he doing here?” George asked, nearly choking on his tea. Molly jumped at Draco’s voice and turned to see him as well. _Shite. Shite. Shite. Why?_ Harry’s mind went into overdrive, trying to come up with a good enough reason for Draco to be here. He considered lying for a moment, but then decided that the truth would be the easiest way around this situation.

“Come on in, Draco,” Harry said stiffly. Draco shook his head, discomfort on his pale face. “It’s alright, we’re just having tea.”

“What the hell—” George started. He looked from Harry to Draco and back again, his mouth open.

“He—” Harry tried to find some way to explain Draco’s situation without making Draco feel like a charity case. “He’s living here, er, because I can’t afford to live alone, what with my bank vault being frozen, and… Malfoy Manor’s been seized, so it’s been beneficial to the both of us…” 

“I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” Draco stated simply. Harry stared at him. He couldn’t believe it. Draco had admitted his own helplessness. He had been honest, and with the Weasleys at that.

“But it was me who practically begged him━” George’s eyes snapped to his, his jaw dropping further. “Well, not beg, I didn’t beg him.” _Fuck._ “It was more like…”

“After the reporters found me camping, Harry came to find me and invited me to come and stay with him. My Aunt Andromeda doesn’t trust me enough to live with her. I didn’t have anywhere else to go, and so Harry asked me to stay here with him. He saved me, really,” Draco added with a smile in Harry’s direction. 

“I didn’t save you, you said so yourself.” Harry wished that Draco hadn’t phrased it that way. 

“I am so bloody confused right now,” George said, looking back and forth once more between Harry and Draco. “So Malfoy can’t go back to the Manor, his aunt doesn’t want him… but you did?”

“I couldn’t just let him be homeless!” Harry tried to justify his actions.

“Why not? It’s not like you liked the git in the first place.”

“George, dear, you’re being a bit rude,” Molly said sternly, but quietly. It was the first time she had spoken since Draco entered the room and Harry was grateful that it had been polite.

“I’m just really confused,” George said, leaning back on the couch shaking his head with pale eyebrows raised. “I don’t see why you asked him to live here after everything that’s happened. Unless… unless you two…” Harry didn’t like the tone in George’s voice, nor the suggestive glint in his eye. He wanted to change the subject, but his brain seemed to have clogged.

“Well, I think it’s very kind of you, Harry, dear,” Molly piped up with a smile that didn’t quite reach her voice.

“I do, too,” Draco said, coming to sit next to Harry on the second sofa and patting Harry’s leg. “Really, I don’t know where I’d be now if it weren’t for Harry, here.” Harry didn’t understand why Draco was being so soft, or why he was touching him unnecessarily. Not only did Draco admit to being desperate for a place, he was also making Harry out to be some sort of champion. It didn’t calculate.

“Okay, this is too bloody weird,” George said. “Mum, can’t you see what’s going on here?” Molly narrowed her eyes at her son, and Harry wondered what exactly the two of them thought was happening.

“What’s so weird about two blokes living in the same house?” Draco asked innocently. Harry was beginning to suspect that Draco was up to something, and he did not like it. Not one bit. Draco seemed to be playing off of George’s suspicions, whatever they were. Harry tried very, very hard not to think about what they were.

“Well, nothing. It’s not that, exactly.” George still had that same look on his face. Molly looked back and forth between all of them, apparently as confused as Harry was. Draco smirked and scooted ever so slightly closer to Harry. Harry stood, abruptly, bumping the tray on the table with his knees as he did so.

“I don’t know what the hell you two are playing at, but I don’t want any part of it.” Harry went to exit, not looking any of them in the face. He threw the drawing room doors open, storming down the hall and back down the stairs. 

Once in the privacy of the dark kitchen, he settled into one of the wobbly chairs and placed his forehead in his palm. What the hell were George and Draco going on about? Struggle as he might, he couldn’t seem to place his finger on it. Whatever it was, he didn’t like it, and he wasn’t about to let them team up on him like that, wasn’t going to let Draco sit so close that his insides started to squirm and his skin start to feel electrified by Draco’s soft hand… No. He wasn’t going to let them manipulate him like that. Not in his own home.

 

<>

 

As he watched Harry’s slim figure slide out of the room, Draco smirked and raised his eyebrows at George. He knew what he was on about. George just gave him a small confused look before his mother jumped on him.

“What was that all about?” She asked, her voice dripping with all the sternness a mother’s voice could possibly carry, to the point that even Draco felt a little uncomfortable.

“Isn’t it obvious, mum?” George asked, spreading his hands in a gesture that said it was. He waited for his mother’s response, and Draco watched as what George was saying slowly dawned on her. 

“It— wait, you’re not suggesting—”

“You guessed it,” he replied, clapping his hands together. Draco leaned against the back of the couch, his arms and legs crossed in a smug manner.

“And what gave you that idea?” She asked, thrown off of her reproving manner.

“What, that he likes blokes? Or to try and whittle it out of him?” The woman’s eyes widened and she smacked her son’s arm.

“Is _that_ what you were doing?” She dropped her voice. “I think we need to have a little talk.” She returned to her commanding tone. “Dining room. Now.”

Draco stayed where he was until he could hear the sound of their footsteps fading, then stood up and cast a silencing charm on his feet so he could follow after without them knowing. As he approached the hallway on the lower floor, he could hear their muffled voices from beyond the doorway. Sneering at the fact that they hadn’t even cast a charm on the door, he stepped closer to listen.

“… would have thought that you would have the sense to leave the poor boy alone,” came the Weasley mother’s voice, soft yet audible. She had a certain fire in her tone, and Draco briefly thought to himself that he wouldn’t want to cross her when she was truly angry.

“He’s obviously way in the closet, mum. I’m just trying to get him to recognise his own feelings.”

“For what purpose, George? So that he can be more confused than he already is? Even if you’re right, even if he is gay, he doesn’t need that right now. He’s already going through so much. And it’s not your job to confront the matter, in any case. That’s a very personal subject, one he has to come to terms with himself, without anyone pushing him to do so, and that includes you _and_ Draco.” At this, Draco felt a sudden pang of remorse. Maybe she was right. Perhaps he had been pushy. Harry would still be grieving, after all. George spoke again, interrupting Draco’s thoughts.

“What’s a little pushing going to do? If he’s gay, then he’s obviously in denial. If he’s not, then it shouldn’t matter anyway!”

“It isn’t your responsibility to make Harry come out with it! If he is, he’ll do it in his own time, and I’m not sure this is good timing, anyway. Draco seems to have an interest in him, and Harry doesn’t need to be involved in all that. I think it’s lovely that Harry has offered him a place, but we hardly know the boy.” Draco could feel the heat rising to his face. So that’s what it was about, whether Draco was trustworthy or not.

“No, you’re right. Don’t want him to be messing around with that slimy git. This could be some Death Eater trap, after all.”

“George!” She sounded both embarrassed and cross, but George merely laughed. Draco had heard enough. He stepped away from the door and hurried up the staircase, approaching the landing just as the dining room door creaked open. He turned around, pretending he had just exited the drawing room. George looked him up and down swiftly, but said nothing. Mrs. Weasley, however, turned and spoke to him.

“We’re very sorry, Draco, but we should probably be going soon. I’ll just have a quick word with Harry before we leave.” And with that, both Weasleys made their way down to the kitchen, leaving Draco on the steps to contemplate everything that he had overheard.

 

<>

 

Harry caught the sound of approaching footsteps and quickly composed himself. A moment later, Molly was entering the kitchen, George following cautiously behind her.

“Why don’t you go on back ahead of me, George? I’ll be just a moment.” George nodded, giving Harry a small wink as he tossed the Floo powder into the fireplace, called out, “The Burrow!” and was whisked out of sight. Harry frowned. Molly seemed to be busying herself with her handbag, not looking at Harry. Finally, after finding nothing else to distract her, she looked up and spoke.

“I’m really sorry about all that, dear.” Harry wasn’t entirely sure what she was apologising for.

“Sorry?”

“For George, I mean. I’m not sure why he feels the need to act that way. If you felt disrespected in your own home, I’m terribly sorry.” Confusion swept across his features and his eyebrows squinched together.

“Acting what way?” He wished she’d just be clear about what was going on, as he had absolutely no idea. 

“Well, I only mean that—” She seemed to be choosing her words carefully. “You seemed a little bothered, that’s all. I know that George can be a bit, er, bold, but you don’t need to prove anything to us.” Harry just stared. Why was she being so evasive?

“I really don’t know what you’re going on about, Molly.” She just gave him a weak smile.

“Well, anyway… It was lovely to see you. Perhaps sometime you’ll join us for dinner.” She paused for a moment, then turned toward the fireplace, tossed in the powder and was gone.

With nothing else to do, Harry took Ginny’s letter from his pocket and simply held it in his hand for a moment. He felt an odd trepidation, now that he was secluded enough to have the opportunity, about opening the note. He didn’t know what to expect. Coming from Ginny, it could be anything. His mind flitted to the fact that she had been invited to the Slug Club in his sixth year because of her adeptness at Bat-Bogey hexes, and part of him considered tossing the note in the fireplace without reading it for fear that it might be cursed or something of the sort. After a short debate in his head, however, he gently pulled apart the tiny seal and began to read.

 

_Harry,_

_School is going to be starting tomorrow, so I figured I should probably write and tell you this before I go. I would visit, but I’m not sure you really want to see me._

_I’m really sorry about everything that happened over the summer. I didn’t mean to react so badly. I hope you can understand and forgive me. I was a bit rash and you probably didn’t deserve my temper. It’s just been hard, what with everything that’s happened and then us fighting and you being distant all the time. I don’t really blame you anymore, though. I know it’s been just as difficult for you, too._

_It’s strange, you not being here. I keep expecting you to pop up. I know it’s stupid. It’s kind of lonely here without you. Ron and Hermione are always busy (with each other, I expect. If only you could see my eyes rolling.) and George doesn’t really talk to anyone much. Dad is at work a lot still because of all the stuff the Ministry has to do, so mum’s the only one who I can talk to most of the time. I’m super busy with packing, so that keeps my mind off of things sometimes. I’m nervous for this school year. I’ve flipped through my new textbooks and it looks like really complicated stuff. I’d feel a lot better if you were going to be there, too, but I guess I understand why you won’t be._

_There’s something I wanted to ask you about, Harry. It’s something I’ve been wondering for awhile, now, and I’m not exactly sure how to bring it up, but I need to know if it’s true. Do you like men? I mean, are you gay? George once mentioned it in passing, and at first I thought he was joking, but then it kind of just clicked. It would make sense, and I understand if you are. I want you to know that I wouldn’t judge you. I just want to know because it would make some things a bit clearer._

 

_Anyway, I hope you won’t take offense to this letter, or my question. If you don’t want to answer me, that’s okay, too._

_Much love,_

_Ginny_

 

Harry skimmed the letter over a second time. Ginny had said that it “clicked” that he might be gay. What did she mean? Why was everyone acting so strangely towards him lately? Why was Draco suddenly being so touchy-feely with him? Why was he beginning to think that he _might_ be gay? Or at least something in between straight and gay. He needed to talk to somebody about this, and he wished Sirius was here to do so. Nothing was making any sense anymore, and he needed somebody to tell him that things would be okay. 

He understood now, at least, what George had been on about. George thought he was gay. The fact slowly congealed in his mind. Draco hadn’t helped anything, what with his strange behaviour, but Harry felt the need to talk with him. He was the only other person there, and the only person Harry felt comfortable discussing this with, as odd as that may be, even to him. It wasn’t ideal, but he needed someone to talk to or he felt his head might burst from all the thoughts and worries and new information now swirling inside it.

Gathering what resolve he could find, Harry stood up from the kitchen table, intent on searching Draco out, but there was no need. As soon as he stood, Harry heard footsteps coming down the stairs and a moment later, Draco was standing at the entrance to the kitchen.

“Oh,” Draco said, seeming tense. “The Weasels have gone, then?”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call them that, but yeah, they have.” Harry sunk back into his chair, sighing and placing his head in his palms with his elbows on the table. There was long pause, and just when Harry thought that maybe he should say something to break the overwhelming silence that was creeping in on him, Draco cleared his throat.

“Listen, I’m sorry for— for being so close. I could tell it was making you uncomfortable. Not that I don’t enjoy seeing you squirm,” he added haughtily, before returning meekly to his apologetic state, “But I may have taken it too far.” Harry saw that there was something there that Draco had wanted to say, but he didn’t continue.

“It’s fine.” Harry didn’t know why he was saying it. It wasn’t fine, not with everything that had been bothering him for the past day or two and, more specifically, within the past hour. Silence pooled down on them again, but Draco didn’t have anything more to say and Harry didn’t think he was ready to say aloud what he was thinking. He gathered his Gryffindor courage━what little he had━and decided that no good would come of keeping silent.

“Draco…” He looked up, trying to spy some sort of confirmation in Draco’s grey eyes, some message that it was okay to continue. “Am I gay?”

“How the hell would I know, Potter?” A pause. “Harry?”

“I just— well, do _you_ think I’m gay?” Draco looked thoughtful for a moment.

“I mean, I kind of suspect you might be… or at least bisexual. I think George suspects it, too.”

“Ginny, too. Look at this.” And Harry handed him the letter. Draco read it through, a small frown of concentration set on his lips, then handed the piece of parchment back. Draco didn’t seem upset at all, something that Harry was very appreciative of.

“Well?” Harry asked.

“Well…” Draco repeated hesitantly, propping himself against the marble countertop. “Do _you_ think you’re gay?” When Harry didn’t say anything, Draco continued. “I can’t believe I’m asking this, because anyone in their right mind knows she’s not, but was Ginny attractive to you? Have you ever been attracted to another man?” Harry blushed, then, because the only man he’d ever been attracted to was asking him this. Did that really make him gay, though? Being attracted to one man? Sure, he’d been able to appreciate the handsome features of other men, but he’d never had the desire to snog them. He didn’t even have the desire to snog Draco. But as that thought crossed his mind he realised that he wasn’t necessarily opposed to the idea. Perhaps bisexual was a better term for what he was feeling. 

“Not really,” he lied, not making eye contact with the man in front of him. “I mean, sort of…”

“What d’you mean, sort of? You can’t be _sort of gay,_ Harry.” Draco said seriously. “Who have you been ‘sort of’ attracted to?” Harry thought this was a very difficult question to answer, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to answer it at all.

“I—” Harry gulped.”Cho Chang, for one, and I was attracted to Ginny, but they’re both girls, so I s’pose that doesn’t really count, does it?”

“Why wouldn’t that count?” Harry began to understand he was digging himself a hole, here. 

“I don’t know!” he said in exasperation. “Because every time I look at you I feel like… I feel like I might not be as straight as I once thought.” He paused and looked into Draco’s wide sterling eyes. How would he fix this? Draco seemed to be very uncomfortable, and he’d basically just confessed his feelings for the man. “I think I might like… some blokes. I think I _am_ ‘sort of’ gay,” he said suddenly. And it fit, then. It didn’t sound untrue, or feel that way at all. “I’m bisexual.” 

“Glad you’re finally out with it, mate,” Draco said with an awkward chuckle. Harry chewed his lip a little.

“So… You’re not— you’re not… angry, or anything?” Draco outright laughed at that, and Harry felt a little bit the tension in his body ebb away.

“Angry? Why would I be angry?” Harry grinned sheepishly as Draco stared at him with a raised brow. “Do you not realise—” He looked at Harry’s face and faltered a little. “You don’t, do you? Mate, _I’m_ gay.” Harry took this in. The thought had never actually occurred to him. Draco Malfoy, gay?

“But what about—”

“Pansy Parkinson? Cover up.” Draco sneered a bit, and Harry found himself not disliking the way his lips curved with it when it wasn’t directed at him. “If my mother ever found out…” He shook his head. “Father told me not to tell her.”

“Oh.” For a while, the only sound in the kitchen was the ticking clock on the wall, but something felt different this time. Without the tension of all his unsaid thoughts surrounding him, Harry didn’t mind the quiet.

“Then what about you?” Harry asked finally.

“What _about_ me?” 

“You’re not— It isn’t a problem that I— That I sort of… Like you?” He had said it aloud. It had been itching in the back of his mind, but he hadn’t known if he should say it. Draco looked at Harry with disbelief, slowly shaking his blond head.

“You’re absolutely clueless, aren’t you?” Draco drawled. “Since the day you didn’t take my hand I’ve actively sought your attention. Didn’t you ever wonder why, or was your Gryffindor brain too concentrated on my _evil schemes_?” Harry shrugged off Draco’s insult. He hadn’t even thought of it that way. He’d thought, all these years, that Draco had hated him and had done the things he had just to spite him, not to get his attention.

“I mean, I wondered, but I assumed you only did that to irritate me.”

“Do you need me to spell it out for you?” Harry didn’t need him to, but he wanted him to, if only to hear him say it. “I like you, too.” Draco said the words softly, and the way it made Harry feel hearing them reinforced the realisation he’d come to only moments ago. “I was so mad when you didn’t take my hand first year, so angry that you chose others over me every single time, that my father quite literally put a ban on me speaking your name.” Harry laughed a little too hard over the idea. In his mind’s eye, he saw a young Draco writing their initials with a heart around them in a diary.

He didn’t know what to do with this information. It made him happy to hear that Draco liked him, too, but it also made him feel bad for not having noticed Draco’s feelings sooner. 

“So what should we do? What does this mean?” Harry asked quietly. When Draco responded, his words were slow and measured.

“It means that you’ve just come to terms with your sexuality— congratulations, by the way— and I think you should probably take some time to think things over.” Draco paused. “As for what _we_ should do… I honestly have no idea. I would be happy just knowing you return my feelings, if you genuinely do like me, but I think you need to work it over on your own. I’m not about to have my heart broken by Harry Potter, The Boy Who Rejected My Friendship…” Harry thought that ‘heartbroken’ was a bit of an exaggeration. Surely Draco didn’t feel that strongly about him.

“Alright, then… I should probably go. Upstairs, that is. To think. Like you said.” Draco laughed at Harry’s awkwardness and Harry stood to leave. He walked up the steps and made it all the way to the hallway above, only to rush down them again, stopping at the end and grasping the banister with both hands.

“Do you really mean it? That you like me? I mean, it’s not some sort of joke or…” Draco smirked, something that Harry was allowing himself to enjoy more and more.

“I told you that this morning, you sap. Does it look like I’m joking? It’s not my fault you’re so slow about everything.” Harry gave him an expression of uncertainty.

“What, do you want me to prove it to you?” Harry wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic or not. He looked calm, sounding almost bored as he asked. Harry, on the other hand, was nowhere near calm. His heart was beating uncomfortably in his throat and he felt his palms begin to sweat.

“Er━ what do you mean, prove it?” Draco strode to meet him, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. Harry was beyond confused, now. How was Draco going to prove that he liked him? He didn’t get the chance to ask, however, because Draco then leaned forward and gently pressed his lips to Harry’s. He felt himself stiffen at the connection of mouths, but soon he was relaxed and enjoying the feeling. In fact, it felt more right than any kiss he’d shared with anyone else, passionate and smooth and gentle all at once. He sunk into it, feeling his concerns and inhibitions of not even an hour ago start to slip away.

Too soon, the kiss was over. Harry felt the desire to return his lips to Draco’s, but instead he found himself simply gawking blankly at the man before him. He really was lovely, with one elegant eyebrow raised a bit. 

“How did that feel?” Draco asked quietly. 

“Pretty good, yeah,” he breathed. “Can we do that again some time?” Draco laughed, a sound that Harry enjoyed quite a lot.

“I think you should mull things over and maybe get back to me on that.” Harry disagreed entirely. If it were up to him, he’d spend the rest of the night kissing Draco, but it was clear that the feeling wasn’t mutual. Not yet, at least. As he trod up the stairs, his lips still tingling with the memory of Draco’s and a hot feeling in his abdomen, he felt a small weight lift off of his shoulders. Maybe this was okay.


	8. Lover's Labours Won

As Harry wandered up to his room, Draco stumbled back from the stairs a bit. _I’ve just kissed Harry. I kissed Harry fucking Potter._ The thought shouldn’t have been able to thrill him as much as it did, but he found his heart thrumming and wildfire spreading through his bones. He couldn’t stop repeating the mantra in his head, _I kissed Harry._ Draco felt as light as air, walking up to the drawing room. The books in their cases no longer called out to him as they normally did, though he thought he’d be able to calm himself with one. A happy dance was threatening to burst out through his limbs, and he only just curbed the action, his fear of Harry walking in on him being the only reason why. 

He had never, in all his life, expected to have this dream come true. His father had told him, in less words, that there was no room for a gay Malfoy in their family, and though it had taken a very long time, Draco eventually had to accept this. Draco could understand his reasoning when it came to him being the only Malfoy heir. He was responsible for carrying on the Malfoy name, but he would’ve given up being a Malfoy time and again if it meant being able to live a life free of fear of his own sexuality, or what society would think if he exposed it. Harry had been what many young teens refer to as their ‘dream boy,’ to Draco and had been just as out of reach as most dreams are. He closed his eyes and smiled, feeling the pressure of his happiness build up in his stomach and chest.

This really needed to stop, he told himself. He was quite literally vibrating with elation and he needed to calm down. He perused the book cases despite himself and happened upon a beginners piano book. Thinking that perhaps this would take down his need to play cello a bit, he slid the book from its shelf and walked over to the now shining piano at the other end of the room. Draco sat at the piano, unsure of what he was doing, or whether it would make him settle down. His fingers shook as he placed his hands on the keys in the way the diagram showed in the book. There was a short scale beneath the diagram and he put his right thumb on middle C, his fingers hesitantly pressing the keys down as he played it. 

“This is too easy,” he laughed proudly to himself. _Almost as easy as kissing Harry,_ he thought, but then told himself to shut up and focus. 

Bored of the scales, he flipped the page to a full song. Beethoven’s _Ode to Joy_. How fitting, as he was trying to curb the joy he was still feeling. The notes were all labeled, and he knew where middle C was, but as he attempted to play through the song he’d already learned years before on cello, he struggled to produce a pretty, flowing melody. Instead it sounded clunky and novice. Draco was not used to being bad at things, but he’d been horrible at the cello when he’d first started, so instead of giving up he pressed on, replaying the song over and over. 

After his fifth time playing the song he decided it didn’t sound too awful and, half-satisfied, he flipped to another song. Chopin’s _Prelude in E minor, Opus 28, No 4_. He’d never heard that specific Chopin piece before, and so he was less familiar with the structure of it. He figured he could play it properly if he tried hard enough. This song had much more intricate parts for the left hand, and he hadn’t practiced many chords yet, so as he began to weigh the keys down the notes were muddled. For whatever reason he was unable to make his hands work together in the way the sheet music required. 

“Shit,” he mumbled absently as he hit a sour note. He stopped playing and returned his hands to the starting point, determined to get it right. A moment later, “No, that’s not…” Sighing, he started over once again. He spent a long time trying to figure the song out, his stubbornness refusing to let him choose a different one to play. Out of frustrated curiosity, he stopped playing after a half hour or so and double-checked the cover of the book. Yes, it was for beginners. He hummed angrily and then turned back to the Chopin prelude. This time around it sounded less terrible, but it was still far from a success.

“You are absolutely dreadful at that,” Harry said from behind him, causing him to press every wrong key beneath his fingers. 

Swinging around on the bench, he shouted, “Merlin’s sagging tits, Potter, don’t sneak up on me like that!” Draco felt his cheeks flooding with the heat of his embarrassment. Harry was standing with his arms crossed, leaning casually against the door frame. His flush changed from one of shock and shame to one of interest. The fact that Harry had feelings for him made Draco feel more comfortable soaking in his physical appearance. His lean muscles stretching the fabric of his sleeves, the obvious strength in his legs━ even if the trousers covering them did no justice━ and the straight edge of his jaw, which had a light five o'clock shadow. Even the teasing curve of his lips, which he’d not long ago been kissing, Draco was now able to appreciate without the fear that Harry would suspect his interests. 

“I heard some ghastly noises coming from up here, so I thought I’d investigate,” Harry said, breaking Draco’s train of inappropriate thought. 

“The only reason I’m sounding this bad is because the piano’s out of tune,” he defended. This was a lie, though he didn’t know it; the piano had a permanent charm on it that kept it tuned at all times. 

“Are you sure it’s not just because you suck at playing piano?” Draco huffed, though the feeling wasn’t really behind it. Now that they’d admitted their feelings for each other, he enjoyed the back and forth between them.

“I do not _suck,_ I’m learning.” He smoothed his hair away from his face and raised his chin to look down his nose at Harry. “I’m sure you’re far worse than I am, seeing as you’ve got less talent than a blast ended skrewt when it comes to, well, everything.”

“Hey, now!” Harry said with a laugh. “Think you’re taking it a bit too far?” Draco smiled and patted the bench beside him. 

“Here, if you think you can do any better than me, have a go at it.” Harry looked slightly unnerved by this request, but slowly uncrossed his arms and sat down at the piano beside Draco. “If you tell me you’ve got some secret ability to play that you’ve never mentioned before, I’m going to set this piano on fire, I hope you know.” 

“Ha! No, I can’t play at all, but since you’re so confident that you’re better than me, let’s have a contest of sorts. Whoever can play the best piece wins,” Harry said with a smirk, then shoved his hip against Draco’s. “Scoot down, you’re hogging the bench.” Draco scooted down, only a few inches. The sudden closeness of the other wizard was causing his nervousness to return, but he forced himself to appear as unaffected as he could. 

“What does the winner get?” he asked, trying to distract himself from the flipping of his stomach. Harry paused, looking thoughtful. 

“The winner gets… I didn’t actually think about it before I said it.” 

“Of course you didn’t,” Draco scoffed playfully. 

“The winner gets to ask three personal questions about the loser.”

“How personal are we talking?” Draco asked, sounding uneasy. 

“That’s for the winner to decide,” Harry said, turning his attention back to the piano book with a pink stain on each cheek.

Draco felt the challenge was a perfect opportunity to find out more about Harry. There was no doubt in his mind that he should win; he’d been practicing for over an hour already and so had the feel of playing the piano at the very least. Apparently Harry had no talent for it. In Draco’s opinion, Harry was setting himself up for disappointment and failure. 

After flipping through the pages back to the beginning, Harry glanced back and forth at the book and his placement of his fingers on the keys. Then he turned a few more pages and landed on Debussy’s _Claire Du Lune._ For another moment he continued to look between the piano and the book, and then started playing. Much to Draco’s surprise, Harry wasn’t nearly as bad as he had been when Draco had first sat down at the piano; however, he was only playing with his right hand. Draco was familiar enough with the piece from his cello knowledge to play the left handed part, and so he placed his fingers near Harry’s and started a duet. A badly played one, but still, a duet. 

Due to the close proximity demanded by the keys needing played for the song, their hands brushed now and then, and their arms and shoulders were pressed together. Draco found himself smiling like an idiot as the song came to a close and their clumsy fingers stopped, pinkies touching. 

“That was the sorriest excuse for a song I’ve ever heard,” Draco heard himself saying. He and Harry both turned to face each other again, and simply stared, slate steel against clover field. Harry’s face inched closer to Draco’s, and the latter felt his throat clog in anticipation. Their lips were nearly touching when Draco heard something tapping against the drawing room window. 

Sighing, and looking defeated, Harry stood up and went to the window to let the owl sitting on the outer sill in. The large bird dropped a letter in Harry’s hand and immediately flew away. It didn’t look like one of Hogwarts’ owls, but it did look rather official. With a perplexed look on his face, Harry shut the window again and opened the letter. Draco watched him read, disappointment causing his lower lip to slip forward into a pout. He realised what he was doing after a moment and once again masked his emotions from the other man. Since he’d come to live with Harry he’d begun losing his ability to mask his emotions at all times, so it took a conscious effort to keep it up sometimes.

While Harry read, Draco turned the pages of the sheet music to the Chopin song he’d been struggling with. Quietly, he pressed the keys and found that he was able to play the first quarter of the song much better now.

“Well,” Harry said, interrupting Draco’s playing. “I’ve been accepted as an Auror. They want me to start next week Monday.” 

“Is that a good thing?” Draco asked. Harry shrugged and set the letter on top of the piano, then sat back down beside Draco. 

“It’s a necessary thing. I don’t have nearly enough money to live off of, and I’ve still got three months until my vault is unfrozen. Even with rent from you, I’d still need to work in order to keep fixing this place up, and to buy food, pay Kreacher━though I’m sure I’ll have to force him to accept the money━and all the other things it takes to live.” Harry said, appearing more stressed out with each word. “I also need a new mattress,” he added, twisting his back left and right, releasing three cracks with each twist. Draco shivered, hating the sounds of bones cracking.

“You want to… pay… your house elf.” 

“I think Hermione would box my ears if I didn’t at least try to, yes.” Harry rolled his eyes in response to Draco’s look of incredulity. 

“You do realize how house elves work, don’t you?” Draco huffed haughtily. He still enjoyed teasing Harry as much as he could about his lack of knowledge on the workings of the wizarding world.. Kreacher’s a _house elf._ House elves don’t receive pay.”

“Maybe not in a pureblood household, but I’m not standing by those stuffy traditions. I’ve seen how purebloods treat house elves, so I’m not sure they set the best example anyway.”

“You do realise I’m a pureblood,” Draco said with a slight shake to his head. Indignation threatened to invade his tone of voice. “I’ve never been cruel to a house elf. And it isn’t just purebloods who treat house elves badly...” Draco mumbled the last defense; it was a poor one, as the majority of house elves belonged to pureblood households or wizarding schools.

“The fact that you jumped to cruelty in your defense says that, even if you weren’t cruel yourself, you know how purebloods treat their house elves.” Harry smirked. “You’ve just proved my point.” 

“So who won?” Draco asked, changing the topic. He sensed that the argument was not in his favour and was intent on abandoning it. 

“Er… That depends. Did your little tune while I was reading my letter count?” Harry looked at Draco’s fingers, long and thin, and at the ready against ivory. 

“I suppose it does, since you heard it. Which song do you think was better?” Draco knew for a fact that his attempt was better, but he decided that it wouldn’t hurt to let Harry decide, if that would take the concerned lines from his forehead. 

“Yours was most definitely better,” Harry chuckled. “So, then, I guess that means you get to ask me three personal questions.” Draco felt a sly smile spreading across his cheeks. He hadn’t expected Harry to choose him as winner, but since he had, Draco’s mind filled with all the things he’d wondered about the Gryffindor since the day they’d met.

“Only three?” Harry narrowed his eyes at Draco’s question.

“Only three,” he reiterated slowly. Draco considered the questions that were most important to him. He wanted to avoid the topic of Harry’s sexuality for now, since it was such a new discovery. There were other things that Draco had always wondered about, though. One of them being Harry’s muggle upbringing. 

 

<>

 

“Alright. First question: What was growing up like, with muggles? In detail.” Harry went rigid with the question. 

That was a loaded one, and he wasn’t sure he felt that it was the right time to talk about that. His upbringing had not been a pleasant one, and was full of abuse and overall poor treatment. Harry was also concerned that Draco knowing his story would affect the way he perceived muggles in general, and that was concerning, to say the least. Harry’s childhood was far from the best example of muggles.

“Er, well… Not good. Up until my Hogwarts letters started coming━”

“What do you mean, _letters_?” Draco interrupted. “The Boy Saviour is so special that he got more than one?” Harry gave him a look that suggested he’d better drop the Boy Saviour comments, which only made Draco smirk.

“That depends. Does that count as your second question?” There was humour in his tone, but Draco looked a bit panicked for a moment.

“No, no it does not. But if you’re as nice a person as the world seems to think you are, you’ll explain yourself.” 

“I don’t see what me being a nice person has to do with anything, but _anyway_ … If you really want to know, my aunt and uncle raised me. That’s my mum’s sister and her husband. They had a son, my cousin, Dudley. They really hated me━”

“Didn’t they get you when you were a baby? How could anyone hate a baby? I mean, they’re gross little creatures who do nothing but cry, drool, shit, piss, and puke, but━” Draco cut himself off when Harry glared at him. If he interrupted one more time, Harry thought he might smack the man. 

“Do you want me to answer the question or not?” he asked impatiently. Draco motioned as if he were zipping his lips and throwing away the nonexistent key. “They hated me, and kept me in a cupboard beneath the stairs━”

“Are you fucking _kidding_ me? Who keeps a baby under the stairs?” Harry’s hand twitched. 

“Malfoy, if you don’t shut up right now━” 

“Okay! Okay.” He held his hands up in surrender. “I promise on my mother’s finest china I won’t interrupt you anymore.” Harry stared at him with blatant disbelief, but kept going. 

“My bedroom━ _not_ as an infant━was in a cupboard beneath the stairs.” Draco seemed about to burst with another interruption, but he thankfully held it in. Harry told him about how his aunt and uncle hated magic, and how they had tried to force him into being a non-magical person as well. He told him about how Dudley had taunted and beaten him, and how Uncle Vernon had verbally abused him, sometimes even threatening to do so physically. Those two things were difficult for Harry to discuss. Not even Ron or Hermione knew the full extent of the things he’d gone through with the Dursley’s, and part of Harry felt he was betraying them for telling Draco first. Though, when he’d gotten done with explaining the abuse he felt loads lighter. 

Finally, he told Draco about receiving his first Hogwarts letter, and, when his aunt and uncle wouldn’t let him read it, how more had come in the strangest of ways, and how Hagrid had eventually rescued him on his birthday and told him he was a wizard━and gave Dudley a pig’s tail, which Draco thought was hilarious.

“How did he not get in major trouble for that?” Draco asked between giggles.

“You know, I’m not really sure. Probably Dumbledore’s doing.” Harry hadn’t really considered it. “Anyway, Hagrid told me all about my family and how I had defeated Voldemort.”

“So you didn’t know about any of that?” Draco looked struck. Harry shook his head. “Oh, that’s rich. The Boy Who Lived didn’t even know that he was The Boy Who Lived.” He laughed, then looked as though he’d realised something, and asked, “But then, how did you not realize you were magical after you actually performed magic?”

“I dunno, really. I guess I just thought that it was odd coincidences or some sort of trick. My aunt and uncle always made a big deal out of it, but I didn’t understand why. I didn’t know it was magic, and they didn’t want me to know. Uncle Vernon always called it ‘funny business.’” Harry realised Draco had asked another three questions, and asked teasingly, “So were those your final questions?”

“What? No!” Draco exclaimed, alarm overtaking his pointed features. “You’re not seriously going to count those, are you?” Harry laughed. Draco was adorable when he was worried for no reason. 

“No, they don’t count━but you should be more careful with your next questions. Anything you ask me after this, I’m considering question number two.”

“I— What?” Harry smiled smugly. He was half-tempted to tell Draco that his ‘what’ counted as question number two, but decided to be nice. “Oh, fine. I’m just so curious.” As Draco pondered his next question, Harry admired the little crease that formed between his brows. It was subtle, a tiny line across his otherwise smooth face, just enough to demonstrate his concentration. For some reason, it made Harry smile.

“Hm. Well… How did you convince Voldemort that you were dead? There’s no way you could’ve fooled him. I lived with him, I know how perceptive he is… and yet you did.” Harry was surprised at this. He had expected this whole discussion to be a little more lighthearted, with questions about his favorite colour or where he’d like to vacation. Draco, however, seemed intent on asking the deepest questions he could think up, something that made Harry a little apprehensive. He thought back to when Draco had told him about hating his last name and although that helped him feel more willing to share the answer to this question with him, it was a different level of personal than that. Not to mention that if Harry told Draco he might think differently of him. This question lead to another question, one that Harry knew would be necessary to explain if he wanted to answer Draco’s question: how had he not died of a Killing Curse? What would Draco think, knowing that Harry had had a piece of Voldemort’s soul inside of him since he was an infant? Harry ruminated over his answer for a while before responding.

“Well, firstly, I didn’t exactly ‘convince’ him that I died. I sort of… _did_ … die. When Voldemort tried to kill me as a baby, the curse rebounded on him and a part of his… A part of his soul went into me.” Draco’s eyes widened, but Harry continued before he lost his confidence. “So when he went to do it again, in the forest, _I_ didn’t really die. But that bit of him did. And I almost went with it, but…” No. He didn’t want to tell Draco about Dumbledore and the train platform. He wasn’t sure he wanted to tell anyone, ever. It felt almost too personal an experience to describe. “But I… came back, I guess? And then… Voldemort wanted to make sure I was dead, so he sent your mum to check. She knew I was alive, but she didn’t care. She just asked me if you were okay and when I nodded she told them all that I was dead.” There was a silence that followed his admission. 

Harry wasn’t sure how Draco was going to react to hearing all that, and because of his lack of reaction Harry was starting to think he shouldn’t have said everything he had. Maybe now Draco would come to his senses and realise he’d been wrong in liking him. Maybe he’d be too disgusted by the fact that a part of Voldemort was a part of him to have feelings for him at all. Maybe he’d want to leave. Harry looked down at the piano keys they’d just been playing, before everything had gotten too dismal, and waited for Draco to get up and go. To his immense surprise and relief, however, Draco’s response had nothing to do with that part of the story.

“Wow. My mother… She really did that? She lied right to his face?” Harry nodded and Draco let out a long exhale from between his slightly parted lips. “I had no idea.”

“So… No comment on the whole Voldemort-was-inside-of-me thing, then?” Harry wrung his hands, fearing that the answer may be one he didn’t want to hear. Draco started to snigger, though, and Harry looked up to see him rolling his eyes. 

“Why did you have to put it like that?”

“I mean, it’s not inaccurate…”

“No, but disgusting. The Dark L— no. Just no. Horrible mental image. Thanks, for that, as if I’m not already scarred for life as it is.” He shuddered and Harry busted out laughing, in spite of, or perhaps because of, the warmth he could feel crawling up his neck.

“You’re welcome,” Harry said. “Can your third question please not be so… hard to answer?” he pleaded. Draco nodded, seeming to understand what he meant. 

“I didn’t mean to make you say all that,” Draco said softly. “Especially not the Dark Lordt-being-inside-of-you part,” he said with a chuckle. “Could’ve gone my whole life without hearing those words.” Harry tried not to be irritated with Draco’s use of that title for Voldemort, but shoved aside the feeling before it made itself known. 

“But you’re not, like… repulsed by me now?” Draco must have caught the concern on Harry’s face because he quickly stopped laughing and his expression softened.

“ _No_ , mate. It’s not like you could help it. You were just a baby.” He gave Harry a warm smile, and Harry felt his concern melt away, making room for the familiar squirming in his gut that he got every time Draco looked at him that way.

“So then… What’s your third question?” he asked, feeling slightly distracted.

“Oh, right.” Draco sat, contemplating for a moment before he finally asked, “What’s one thing━and it doesn’t have to be something crazy or intense━that you regret?” This was by far the easiest question of the three for Harry to answer, and it slipped off his tongue before he even had time to think about it.

“I really regret using Sectumsempra on you in the bathroom in sixth year,” he said, looking down. 

“That’s it?” Draco asked. He seemed genuinely shocked that Harry had told him as much. 

“What do you mean, ‘that’s it’? I bloody sliced you open! You nearly bled out! You easily could’ve died! ‘That’s it.’ Really,” he scoffed. 

“No, I mean… That’s the first thing that comes to mind when you think of regrets?” 

“At the moment, yes. Why, what were you expecting?”

“I don’t know! Something about Ginny, or that you didn’t go back to school this year, or… _anything_ but that?”

“Well I’m sorry that I care about you and regret nearly killing you,” Harry joked. “I’ll try harder to not give a fuck next time.”

“You mean you plan on almost-killing me again?” 

“That depends on whether or not you plan to almost-torture me again.” Both of them stared blankly for a moment, and then simultaneously burst into laughter. 

 

<>

 

Draco felt a lot better now that they were laughing instead of discussing heavy topics such as the Dark Lord, dying, killing, and being killed. It made Draco’s heart pulse dramatically knowing that the first thing Harry thought of as far as regrets go was nearly killing him. He honestly hadn’t expected that, hadn’t even thought of that day in a long time. The fact that Harry did say that, and without pausing to wonder, spoke volumes to Draco, and his stomach did flips just thinking about it. 

“Could I ask you one more question?” Draco asked after they’d calmed down a bit. Harry looked aghast.

“Are you serious? Another question? After all of that?” 

“Pretty please?” he asked, trying to sound as sweet as he could. Harry shook his head and laughed in a confused way.

“No, give me one good reason why I should let you.” Draco pondered that for a moment, and then it dawned on him. He was relatively certain he knew how to get Harry to agree to another question.

“I’ll give you a kiss in return. And you can ask me a question, too.” Harry looked as though he were considering this. 

“You realise you’re bribing me with affection, don’t you? That’s could lay a toxic foundation for our relationship.” His eyes widened as he understood what had just come out of his mouth, but Draco thought it was hilarious. “I mean, as _friends_. Not━not _boy_ friends.”

“Why not?” Draco teased.

“Is that your final question?” Not this again.

“No, Potter, it’s not,” he said, feigning weariness. He really shouldn’t be joking about these things, though. Harry had just come to a life changing realisation and hadn’t really even had the time to properly accept it, obviously. 

“Then out with it,” Harry said, interrupting Draco’s internal chiding. 

“Out with what?” But he couldn’t really help himself when Harry was literally playing into his hands. 

“Your question,” Harry said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Oh, I hadn’t known you’d agreed to my terms,” he said haughtily. “You must really want that kiss, then, eh?” Harry’s face turned beet red, and Draco couldn’t tell if it was caused by anger or embarrassment.

“So what if I do?” Before Draco could answer━ and he had planned to━ Harry said, “Ask your bloody question already before I change my mind.”

“Fine, Mr. Touchy.” Draco considered his options; he could go back on his earlier decision and ask something about Harry’s feelings toward him; he could ask about something trivial, like whether he prefers down or polyester-fiber stuffed pillows; he could ask something ridiculous, like what Harry thought the world would be like if there were no such thing as a hippo. In the end, Draco decided to ask a question about himself. “What’s do you find most attractive about me?” 

“That’s all you want to know?” Harry asked softly. 

“It’s important, alright?” Draco was always curious about what others thought of him, having been brought up in a way where he was forced to think of that before all else. These days he’d been trying not to think much about what others saw him as, but, seeing as he spent so much time under the impression that Harry didn’t like anything about him, he genuinely wanted to know what Harry thought.

“Well, then I guess I’d have to say…” Harry paused and looked at Draco. _Really_ looked at him, in a way that made Draco unsure if he was feeling more vulnerable or comfortable. “There’s so much about you that’s…” he trailed off. Draco could’ve begged to hear the end of that statement if it wouldn’t mean giving up on getting the answer to his question. He’d interrupted too many times already.“Why would you ask something like that?” Harry asked, sounding more than a bit frustrated. 

“Oh, come on, that’s the easiest question to answer!” Draco said with a laugh. “You really can’t pick one thing? You clearly wouldn’t know beauty if it hit you in the face! Which, by the way, beauty is about to do if you can’t think of something,” he said in no seriousness at all. Harry laughed and shook his head.

“That’s just it; you’re the furthest thing from hideous,” he said, ignoring yet another of his quips. “How can you expect me to pick just one thing━? I don’t even understand why you asked that question.” Merlin, Draco did enjoy seeing Harry flustered. 

“Please answer the question, Harry,” Draco said insistently, placing his hand on his knee in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. 

“Er…” Harry looked down at where Draco’s hand sat, but quickly looked back up and locked eyes with him. “I think, if I had to pick the most physically attractive thing about you, that it would be your sneer.” 

“How romantic,” he said sarcastically. But then Harry really did look serious. “Wait, do you mean that? My sneer? Mother always told me that was the ugliest expression I used.” 

“Well _Harry Potter_ has only the finest tastes,” Harry said as he raised his chin in mock pride. 

“Apparently so,” Draco said, and before he could tell himself not to, he pressed his lips to Harry’s. Every muscle in his body seemed to melt as Harry leaned into him. He reached one hand up and placed it on the warm cheek that was so close to his. The slight stubble there prickled gently into Draco’s palm, and his brain seemed to lose all function, except for the cheery little voice that kept repeating, _I’m kissing Harry._ Because this was something he’d wanted for years and had told himself he would never have. Because this was consensual, and Harry was enjoying it, too. Because finally, after so long telling himself that one day he would be ‘normal,’ and like girls, but couldn’t seem to make that a reality, he was being accepted. Because he was kissing Harry, and Harry was kissing him back. 

With a bit of daring, Draco tested Harry’s waters by slipping his tongue from between his lips and letting it paint the edge of another, softer, fuller one. It felt more delicious than bombe glacee, and twice as sweet, when Harry’s tongue met his. Their kiss was a clumsy dance, one that neither knew the steps to. And yet it was graceful, the twirling and sliding of the parts of them that allowed them to speak were now keeping each other silent. The way that they had played the piano in duet was comparable; the song was easy, familiar, and the directions were in plain sight, but neither could seem to play it as it was written. Though they sometimes hit the wrong notes, there was a beauty behind their efforts that made the piece, somehow, more beautiful than it had been written to be. 

Draco opened his eyes to find green ones peering, half-lidded, back into his, and with a start he realised that he might be starting to fall in love with Harry, and there was little he could do about it. He pulled away from the kiss and brought his hand away from Harry’s face. It wasn’t what he wanted to do, and by the look on Harry’s face it wasn’t what he wanted either, but it was needed. Draco had been suppressing these emotions for so long that they had just come back with the force of a derailed Hogwarts Express, and he felt lost. What if Harry didn’t love him back? Of course he wouldn’t, not when they had just become friends and Harry had just accepted his sexuality. What if this was just a phase for him, and the only reason he was interested in Draco now was because he didn’t have anyone else? Even worse, because it would affect his pride, what if Draco was being used as a rebound after Harry and Weaslette’s breakup? 

“Why do you look sad all of the sudden, Draco?” Harry asked, bringing Draco’s thoughts to a painful close. “Was my snogging that terrible?” Draco could tell that he was trying to make light of a situation that was heavier than either of them knew, but it wasn’t helping.

“Is that your question?” Draco asked, trying to force himself to feel the happiness that he had been not long before. Harry’s smile twitched, then disappeared. 

“Something’s wrong,” he said seriously. “Did I do something?” 

“No, no you’re fine, and not bad at all at snogging. I actually really enjoyed it, but… what’s your question?” Draco wanted Harry to ask already so he could go back to his room and think, but all he did was stare wide-eyed at him.

“My question is, what’s wrong? And don’t give me some excuse and go hide away somewhere.” Surely Harry saw the irony in that statement, Draco hoped. “Tell me what’s wrong.” Draco tried to think of anything he could say to get Harry off his back, but he couldn’t. Not to mention, after everything Harry had told him today, he felt obligated to be honest. He also felt fear climbing his spine, embedding itself in the nape of his neck, as he tried to summon any amount of grit he possessed. Harry had told him some very personal things, and although there was a chance he would be rejected, there was no way around it. Harry deserved honesty, and Draco thought that he could deal with whatever reaction, no matter how bad, Harry gave him. 

“I think I could be in falling love with you, as stupid and horrible as that is,” he said as he searched Harry’s eyes. For what, he didn’t know, but he thought if he looked hard enough he might find what he needed to see. Harry looked dumbfounded. “I don’t expect you to return the feelings. Not now, and perhaps not ever, but you wanted so badly to know what was wrong, so there it is.” Draco had spoken more rudely than he’d intended to, but didn’t think about it as he stood up from the piano bench and left the drawing room to go back to his own. Maybe he was being dramatic, but his heart felt like there was a tourniquet wrapped around it, and every time he thought of Harry rejecting him, it tightened. 

Sitting on the edge of his bed, he thought of the week he’d spent living with Harry. So much had happened in such a short time, and yet they were only at the beginning of whatever this was. Draco knew that Harry didn’t know him━the real him, beneath all the ‘Death Eater’ exterior━well enough to love him in return. It was too soon, and he’d only just that day accepted the fact that he was bisexual. Draco felt like a fool for telling Harry what was ‘wrong,’ especially knowing that. He really should’ve lied, he told himself, and done exactly what Harry had said not to do. At this rate, he was probably making Harry’s life miserable, with all the pressure Draco unwittingly put on him, but he seemed to have minimal control over his behaviour where Harry was concerned. Although, that was the way things had always been, hadn’t it? Draco would torment and tyrannize Harry to the point where the Gryffindor was forced to react. Harry had minded his own business until Draco had made him want to mind his. This was how things had been, and, Draco thought, always would be. 

 

<>

 

There was no way Draco meant what he’d said. Harry had sat at the piano bench for several long minutes and that was the conclusion he’d come to; Draco had been joking, trying to pull his leg. There was no other explanation for his strange behaviour and his admission. He wasn’t being serious, that much was clear. No, he couldn’t have been serious. 

Harry cleared his throat for no other reason than to break the heavy silence that had fallen around him and stood up from the piano bench. After covering the keys to keep the dust away, Harry went up to his room and decided that he should probably write back to Ginny, seeing as she had written her letter more than two weeks before he’d actually gotten it. The task would keep his mind off of whatever had just happened. He sat at his writing desk, something he’d transfigured from the ugly night stand that he had been on the verge of throwing out. This was the first time he’d actually sat at the writing desk, and as he unraveled a roll of blank parchment and took an inked quill from its pot, he found himself at a loss for words. He blinked away the fog in his brain and then fished Ginny’s letter from his pocket, thinking it would help to reread it before replying. Once he finished reading it for a third time, he tried again to start his letter.

 

_Ginny,_

_Don’t feel too bad about what happened this summer. I was acting like a prat and it’s not your fault. These things happen sometimes, and relationships fall apart. I’m sorry, too, though. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings or lead you on._

_Listen, about your question. I wasn’t sure I wanted to tell you this yet, or ever, but I’m bisexual. It’s a very recent discovery, but the closet doors are gone now, I suppose. It kind of feels relieving. Like, I can really understand what’s been going on with me all these years…_

_Anyway, it probably won’t come as much of a surprise to you, for obvious reasons. Also, if you could please not tell anyone about this yet, I would be very grateful. I hope school is going well for you, and that popularity hasn’t gone to your head. (Only joking.) Also, is Ron still mad at me?_

_-Harry_

 

He sat back and read his letter over a couple times. Once he was sure that what he had written was satisfactory he let the ink finish drying and then folded it into quarters. It was then that he realised that he had no owl and therefore no way to send the letter. He considered asking Draco, but with the prank he’d just pulled Harry wasn’t sure it was a good idea to do that. Checking the time on his wristwatch he decided it wasn’t too early to have dinner and called Kreacher up to ask him to start preparing a meal for him. When Kreacher had gone from the room Harry lay down in his bed, groaning as his back protested the movements. He dozed off with the thought that a new mattress would do him a lot of good.


	9. Something New

Harry’s first couple of weeks with Auror training were very awkward, but that surprisingly had little to do with the job and more to do with circumstances at home. He had tried to talk to Draco many times, but it seemed that he wanted little to do with Harry, and would stiffen at the vaguest mention of what he had said as they sat before the piano, then briskly change the subject to something trivial. Instead of eating in company, he’d been eating most of his meals alone and when Draco did join him things were very formal and the small talk was nearly painful to Harry. If Draco was in the sitting room when Harry would enter, he would offer a stiff greeting and then leave promptly thereafter. In an attempt to get Draco to leave his room Harry had even taken to learning to play the piano, and with all his efforts he’d learned to play the several of songs in the beginner’s piano book. Not well, but he was making progress. He hoped Draco would join him, even just for long enough to insult his bad playing. Alas, this did not happen, and Harry began to wonder if Draco had been serious. He thought back to that day, that moment, when Draco had told him he might be falling love with him, and was afraid that he might’ve been telling the truth. After several days of this, Harry had grown rather weary of it, but had decided not to mention it and see how long Draco intended to keep this charade up. 

It had been too long since he and Draco had had a conversation that consisted of more than the weather or the newspaper, and after he had come home from Auror training one day he decided it was past time he confront Draco. The matter that had been weighing on his mind for far too long. It was very late and when he exited the Floo in the kitchen he was surprised to see Draco there, already enjoying a steaming bowl of soup. Draco noticeably tensed when Harry walked in, but didn’t move.

“How was work?” Draco asked flatly, straightening up on his stool and facing Harry.

“Dreadful. We were there overtime because someone had gotten himself stuck as half a dog after transfiguring himself and knocked over a shelf of untested potions in his flailing. We had to take him up to St. Mungo’s for transfiguration mishap and chemical burns,” Harry grumbled as he sat at the table across from Draco. “Oh, not to mention the hoard of who-knows-what-creatures that escaped the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures from the Beast, Being, and Spirit division. I don’t know what the hell they’re doing down there most of the time, honestly, but this is the second time this week something has been let loose.” In fact, Harry was farther behind on paperwork than he normally was due to these mishaps. It was getting tiresome, almost as tiresome as the issue at hand between himself and the other man inhabiting the kitchen.

“Sounds like you’ve had a long day,” Draco said, not-looking-at him. He was getting rather sick of Draco’s constant averting his gaze. It was bad enough that they rarely had a decent conversation, but it was even worse that he couldn’t seem to look at him half the time. Harry debated momentarily about saying what he was thinking, but he couldn’t stew in this discomfort for much longer.

“Draco, listen. You’ve been acting kind of shifty ever since—”

“Did you see the papers this morning? The Ministry is apparently going to approve the new Adolescent Homeschooling Law. Not sure where that’s going to take wizard society, but it sounds promising.” Harry felt heat rising to his face.

“Yeah, I heard. I work at the Ministry, Draco,” he exhaled roughly. “This is exactly what I’m talking about!”

“What?” If the look on his face was anything to go by, Draco knew precisely what he was talking about. 

“Every time I try to talk about the other day, you change the subject. You haven’t been around hardly at all, and you won’t even bother to _look at me!_ ” He had said the last three words rather aggressively, as Draco had once again looked away. “I thought we had gotten over this! I thought we were friends! I wondered if, one day, we might be more than that, but━” Shite. He hadn’t meant to say that. However, it had caught Draco’s attention. Deciding it couldn’t get worse, or more embarrassing than it already had been, he went on. “Yeah, that’s right. But with you acting this way there’s no chance of that ever happening. So you’re maybe falling in love with me, what difference does that make? I already told you I like you, so what does it matter? Why does that mean we can’t still be friends?” He hadn’t meant to yell, but his temper had gotten the better of him. He was tired of Draco acting aloof every time he entered the room, tired of trying to force conversation, tired of Draco pretending that the last month never happened, that they were back to sitting at a pub, eating lunch and trying to get over a seven year long rivalry. 

“I’m sorry…” Draco looked as though he wanted to say more, but then didn’t.

“I miss being around you, okay? I miss playing piano with you, I miss your snotty remarks on how the curtains I charm don’t match anything else in the room, I miss watching you read… I don’t have any problems with what you said. I just want to spend time with you again.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “It was fun,” he finished poorly.

` “I━wait, you _like_ my snotty remarks?” Draco lifted a pale brow, and Harry thought, or maybe hoped, that he could see the slightest hint of a smirk playing at Draco’s lips.

“Well, yeah. Sort of.”

“Why? Have some sort of thing for being insulted?” Definitely a smirk.

“It isn’t so much that I like being insulted, but that you’re the one doing the insulting…” If that didn’t sound pathetic, he didn’t know what did. “I dunno! It’s just that you’ve been doing it the whole time I’ve known you. It’s weird when you don’t insult me.” 

“Then I guess I’ll have to do that more often.” Draco paused. “I can’t believe you wore that to work. I’ve been wanting to say that to you every day since you started Auror training.” Harry laughed, not because he wasn’t slightly offended, but because Draco seemed to be getting back to normal… or what had become normal to Harry.

“Funny, because six weeks ago I probably would have been bothered about it, but now… It’s one of the things I like about you, I guess. You’ve always been sarcastic, snarky Draco. That probably sounds dumb, though.”

“Sentimental, Potter?” Draco’s tone was harsh, but the glint in his eye gave him away.

“Always have been, always will be, I guess.” Harry was surprised to see a genuine, warm smile form on Draco’s face. It was an expression he wanted to see more often, and a pleasant change from the expressionless mask he’s been wearing for weeks.

“You’re a sap, but I suppose you wear it well. Better than your work attire, at least.”

“What’s wrong with my work clothes?” He let it go the first time, but now he was wondering if he really was dressed badly.

“It’s not just your work clothes, it’s all of them. One of these days I’ll have to take you shopping for a new wardrobe.” Draco did not seem like he was joking and Harry looked down at his over-large jumper and his worn, baggy, and out-of-date jeans. Perhaps he did need a fashion update.

“Would you actually do that?” 

“I mean, if you want me to. I don’t know if I’d trust you to know what’s in style these days, so you’ll need someone with a good eye for these things. Plus, your outfits are so blatantly muggle.”

“Hey, my clothes can’t be that bad. I mean, they’re kind of old, I guess. I just don’t think about it much.” This was true. Since Harry had not bothered to go clothes shopping after leaving Hogwarts, a large portion of Harry’s wardrobe was still comprised of Dudley’s old things and Weasley jumpers. Dudley’s clothes were much too large for him, and Aunt Petunia had never been up-to-date fashion wise. Now that Harry thought about it, he was sick of wearing Dudley’s things. They weren’t his, they never had been, and they were lingering evidence of how little his family had really cared about him. 

“Tell yourself whatever it takes to comfort━”

“Let’s go, then,” Harry said, cutting Draco off. 

“Go… where, exactly?”

“Take me clothes shopping.” If that was what it would take to get Draco to spend some real time with him, he would be willing to go through the pains of having his sense of style insulted.

“Are you serious? Right now?” Harry nodded. “How are you planning to pay for the things you buy? Don’t you still have two months, or something, before your vault is unfrozen?”

“I’ve saved up my first two paychecks. I’m sure I can afford to buy a new wardrobe easily. Working for the Ministry does have its benefits.”

“It— It’s eight in the evening, Harry.”

“I’m sure some place is open. We could go muggle shopping; they have stores open twenty four hours, and that way nobody will know we’ve gone out together. We could make it a date.” Draco sneered at the idea of muggle shopping, but seemed to at least consider the idea. 

“A muggle store. That’s part of the issue, here, Harry, but if you’re champing at the bit, then… A date.” Draco smiled again, that smile that Harry was beginning to like more every time he saw it. Harry stood, then, and circled the table. “You’re really serious, aren’t you?” 

“Deadly serious, and this’ll show you that not all muggle clothing is unstylish.”

Smirking at the confused expression on Draco’s face, Harry took his arm and brought him to a stand. Together they went to the ground floor and through the front door. As they reached the bottom of the outer steps, Harry realised he hadn’t thought of where they would go, but he knew that there had to be a London shop still open. On a last second whim, he Apparated them outside of a women’s clothing store that Petunia had dragged him to on numerous occasions. 

“Really, Potter, I didn’t know you were into women’s apparel,” Draco teased lightly. He seemed nervous and as they walked through downtown London he kept sneaking glances around them, eyeing every muggle passerby as though they were about to attack. 

“They don’t know who you are,” Harry said softly. 

Draco glanced at him and Harry could see with just that single look how out of place he must have felt. So he took his hand, which seemed to help a bit. He could scarcely believe he was walking through downtown muggle London hand-in-hand with Draco Malfoy, but he couldn’t think of a better way to spend their evening. He suspected that this outing would help Draco feel better about his confession, that it would make him see just how little it affected the way Harry thought of him. Maybe having a good experience in a muggle location would give Draco a new perspective, too. A better perspective, Harry hoped. 

For a while they walked in silence, enjoying the underpopulated evening stroll, when they happened on an upper scale men’s clothing store. Harry realised with embarrassment that he hadn’t changed his money over, and discretely transfigured what he had in his pocket to look like muggle money. At least then he wouldn’t be stealing. They entered the store and Draco immediately pulled Harry to the trousers section.

“Thank Merlin, I’ve been _dying_ to get you out of those ugly jeans you always wear,” Draco said as he sifted through the rack of fine looking trousers. Harry began sniggering and Draco froze. “Not-not like that! I meant━I only meant that━” Harry’s sniggering became loud laughter at Draco’s backtracking. “Oh, bugger off.” 

Harry found a pair of trousers that reminded him of the ones Draco usually wore and held them up. “What about these?” Draco looked up from the pair he was looking at with disgust and shook his head. 

“We’re supposed to be finding clothes that are your style, not mine. Though it is flattering that you’d want to mimic me.” Draco smirked in the way he did when Harry’s feelings were showing.

“I just figured you wouldn’t complain if it was something you would wear,” he fired back, his face heating as he spoke. He was glad that Draco was finally acting normal again, but it didn’t stop him from feeling self-conscious when he made faces like that.

“Well we can’t both be me, though I’m sure you’d love to try. Besides, it would probably look a little odd on you. You’re somewhat burlier than I am.”

“Hey, anyone can wear a black suit. I think I could pull off your style.”

“I put a lot of work into my look, thanks!” Draco appeared affronted at the idea that his sense of style was so simple, which only made Harry laugh again.

 

<>

 

Draco had successfully helped Harry find seven casual, three formal, and five business outfits. He’d struggled to get Harry to agree to the suit, braces, and tie, but in the end he’d won him over.

“You’d better be buying that,” Harry stated with his arms crossed. “I’m telling you, I’m never going to wear it.” Draco only smirked. He’d get him to wear it somehow.

“It matches your eyes,” Draco insisted as he lifted the green silk tie. “And you’ll need something formal to wear in case you’re ever invited to a party. Those things happen when you work at the Ministry, you know.” Harry had argued that he wouldn’t be attending any, but then Draco had given his famous pout that had gotten him his way since before he could talk. Harry gave up in the end. 

Much to Draco’s dismay, and against his sound advice, Harry had insisted on visiting another store to purchase T-shirts, as the shop they had been at before only got as casual as plain shirts and luxuriously soft jumpers. Draco had bought several of each for himself when Harry hadn’t been looking, then shrunk them and pocketed them. Draco didn’t understand it: what was the big deal about T-shirts, anyway? It was ultimately Harry’s choice, however, so Draco eventually agreed to be dragged through aisles filled with shirts of every colour, all of them emblazoned with logos or designs of some sort. As they passed by yet another rack, Harry stopped and pulled out a black shirt with a large snake on the front. Harry started laughing, but Draco couldn’t find anything funny about the design. 

“If I have to wear the braces, you have to wear this.” Draco frowned at the shirt. Of course it would be a snake that Harry wanted him to wear, as if he was supposed to flaunt his Slytherin status around.

“A snake? Really?”

“Why not?”

“Seems a bit obvious. ‘Hey everyone! Just in case you didn’t know, I’m a Slytherin. My shirt proves it, see?’ Besides, why would I want to wear that muggle rubbish?” His hand unconsciously moved to his back pocket where his muggle jumpers and shirts were.

“There’s nothing wrong with muggle clothing, Draco. But fine, if snakes aren’t your thing…” It was Draco’s turn to laugh.

“I thought I already explained to you that snakes _are_ my thing,” he replied, wiggling his eyebrows. It took Harry a moment to figure out what Draco was suggesting, but Draco knew he had caught on when his eyes widened and he gave Draco a small shove.

“That was a weak joke, mate.” Draco merely shrugged as Harry pulled out another T-shirt.

“What about this one, then?” It was a similar concept, but in grey instead of black and with a large dragon rearing on the front, breathing fire across the bodice of the garment.

“No. I thought I’d already told you I’m not wearing these foul muggle clothes. It’s bad enough that you’ve dragged me to one of their stores, now you’re trying to get me to adopt their dowdy fashion? I think not.” Draco was surprised by the lack of conviction in his own tone, however, and the look on Harry’s face suggested he wasn’t falling for the protests.

“Come on, it’ll look great.” Harry paused, and he must have gathered that Draco wasn’t going to agree to it when he pulled a third shirt off the rack. “What about this one?” It was a bright pink shirt and said ‘I’m the queen, you’re all peasants,’ and had a gold crown above the words.

“No, no, no,” Draco shouted immediately. “Put that abomination back, I’ll take the dragon if you’re so insistent that I wear these rags.” Harry pumped his fist in excitement. “And they say Slytherins are cunning…” Draco took the dragon T-shirt from Harry and flipped it over. “You’ve got to be fucking joking!” The back of it said ‘Flaming Hot.’ 

“Hey, it’s better than the pink one, and besides, you already agreed. Also, it’s true.” He wasn’t ever planning on actually wearing the thing, but was done listening to Harry’s pestering about the matter. 

“Fine, put it in the cart. And I am not ‘flaming hot,’ I’m more on the ‘stunningly gorgeous’ end of the spectrum.” Harry shrugged.

“Can’t argue, there.” 

When Harry agreed with his half-joke, Draco felt the urge to kiss him, but he wasn’t sure the gesture was welcome. Risking the rejection, something he rarely did in life, he decided to get Harry’s consent. If Harry could display Slytherin cunning and determination enough to convince Draco to get that awful T-shirt, Draco could summon up some Gryffindor courage. 

“I’d like to kiss you,” he said, feeling incredibly shy, but attempting to sound casual. 

“Are you asking?” Harry said with a chuckle. 

“It would be rude not to.” He’d thought that was pretty obvious. “I mean, if we were dating it might be different, but since we aren’t, I thought it would be the polite thing to do. If you don’t want to kiss me, I understand, but I felt just now that maybe I’d like to, and━”

“Draco, since when have you ever cared what’s considered rude? You’re the rudest person I’ve ever met,” Harry interrupted as he stepped closer to him and took his hands. If Draco had wanted to respond to that he wouldn’t have been able to; Harry was kissing him again and it felt just as good as the last time, if not better. The words that had forced him into seclusion and formalities popped back into his head, and they were reinforced. Wrapped in the heat of the moment, he thought that he really was falling for Harry, and he thought that even if it took a thousand more kisses, he wanted Harry to fall for him, too.

Harry’s tongue swayed and parted Draco’s lips, brushing against his teeth in their haste to find his tongue. Impulse made Draco into a marionette and his arms moved around Harry’s waist without his will attached. Harry mirrored Draco and he felt each vertebrae vibrate as if they were chimes and Harry’s fingers were the wind breezing down it, one by one. 

“What in god’s name!” 

Harry and Draco broke apart and spun around when they heard someone shout behind them. Draco didn’t think the portly man was familiar, or the other man, about his and Harry’s age if Draco’s guess was accurate, standing near him. They looked as though they were father and son, and both of them had eyes too close together. The older, fatter man’s face was turning puce and the younger man looked as though he’d seen a ghost. Draco felt Harry stiffen beside him and when he glanced over Harry appeared to be stunned on the spot.

“Why are you here?” Harry asked quietly, his voice quavering. 

“Why are _you_ here? Kissing a boy!” the older man shouted, his mustache twitching at the corners of his mouth. There weren’t many people in the store, but the few who were there were focused on the scene. “I knew there was something wrong with you from day one! You and your— your _funny business!_ I hoped I’d never have to see you again, yet here you are in one of _my_ stores, harassing me and my son! Hanged! The lot of you should be hanged! Every one of your type!” Draco had no clue who this man was, or why he seemed to know Harry, or what type of person he was referring to, but he had a feeling that this was their cue to leave. 

“Harry we should go,” he said quickly, taking Harry’s hand. Draco tugged him away, but he wouldn’t budge. Draco knew from years of seeing this look on Harry’s face that he was furious. 

“No, Draco,” Harry said, his voice now steady. “There’s something I need to say. Take the clothes and check out, I’ll meet you outside.” 

“I’m not leaving you here with this fat git, come on,” he urged, pulling on Harry’s hand once more. 

“And who’s this delinquent? Your little boyfriend?” the man rumbled. “You gays are all disgusting! In public no less! In front of my son! _Who do you think you are?_ Clerk! _Clerk,_ I need a clerk! Someone remove this depraved lunatic from my store!” 

“Leave him out of this!” Harry shouted back. “So what if he is my boyfriend? He’s got nothing to do with this!” He turned to Draco and said, “Go check out, please. I’ll be there in a minute.” The last thing Draco wanted to do was leave Harry alone with the angry man, but Harry pressed a wad of bills into his hand and shoved him toward the checkout counter. 

People were staring, and as empty as Draco had thought the store was, people had congregated. He lowered his face, afraid that someone would recognize him and try to attack him, like those men in Diagon Alley had. Thankfully no one did, and he made it to the checkout counter untouched, but feeling nude under everyone’s watchful scrutiny. 

 

<>

 

Draco walked away with the cart of clothes and Harry waited long enough that he would hopefully be out of earshot before he turned back to his Uncle Vernon and let loose.

“You’ve treated me like shite all my life and I’ve had it,” he began. Vernon’s mouth dropped open, but Harry went on before he could get a word in. “I’m sick of it. You’re nothing to me anymore, nothing but a painful memory, and if you think you have any right to approach me in public you’re mistaken. I’ve fought in a war, fought against a man stronger than you’ll ever be, stronger than all of Britain put together, beat him, and you think _you_ still scare me?” He laughed, and it was a hollow sound. “I’m not that skinny, underfed child under your staircase anymore, and I’m not going to let you push me around. I’ve done enough of that to last several lifetimes over, so if you’ve got a death wish keep talking like you have any relevance in my life. If you’d like to continue living your sad existence, feel free to shut the fuck up and leave me and my _boyfriend_ alone.”

Harry stared at Vernon’s purpling face and waited for him to respond. When he didn’t, he started walking away, but stopped after a few steps and turned to look at Dudley. He was still standing there, his mouth gaping open at Harry. After debating for a few seconds about saying something to him, he decided against it, left the store, and met Draco outside. 

“Who the hell was that?” Draco asked as he rushed over to Harry, six or so paper shopping bags draped on each arm. “Why did he start shouting at us for no reason?”

“He’s nobody, Draco. Let’s go home.” Harry was not in the mood to explain what had happened in the store and was still shaking with adrenaline. 

“You can’t just say he’s nobody, he clearly knew you.”

“Please can we talk about this when we get home?” he pleaded. Draco stared at him with a mixture of irritation and concern, then nodded once. “Thank you.” 

Harry took Draco’s stiff arm and they side-along Disapparated back to Grimmauld Place. Once inside, Draco dropped the shopping bags and blocked the way through the hall before Harry could storm off as he’d intended.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Who was that? We’re home now, so tell me.” Harry gritted his teeth. He really didn’t want to talk about it, but couldn’t see any way out of the the discussion other than blasting Draco out of the way, something he really didn’t want to do. After a moment’s deliberation he supposed that Draco deserved to know.

“My uncle. Vernon.” 

“Are you _kidding me? That_ was your uncle? Why didn’t you tell me!? I’ve got so much I want to say to him, I could’ve punched him in the face, hexed him, made it so that he couldn’t speak without angry wasps spilling from his stupid mouth━I could’ve done _something!”_

“That’s exactly why I didn’t want to tell you. It would have only made things worse and you’d probably end up back in Azkaban for attacking muggles.” Harry sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

“I don’t care, I’ve half a mind to go back there and tell him what for! That’s the bastard who abused you your whole childhood, for Merlin’s sake!”

“It’s fine, Draco. I dealt with it,” Harry told him exasperatedly.

“It’s not fine! He can’t keep treating you that way! You’re a grown man!” Draco was livid, and Harry felt a sudden, strong wave of affection for him. The fact that Draco wanted to defend him so badly made Harry want to smile, despite the incident that had just occurred. He reached out and embraced Draco, and as he reciprocated, Harry could feel Draco’s breathing steadying.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said softly into Draco’s shoulder. “You’re right. I’m a grown man. I can take care of myself.” He paused, stepping away from Draco and leaning against the wall. “It does make me glad that you get so worked up for my sake, though.”

“I only meant that he was insulting me as well,” Draco replied in a brave attempt at indifference. He paused, seeming to be having some sort of internal debate. “Did you really mean it? When you called me your boyfriend?” Harry’s stomach dropped. He hadn’t really meant it. He’d only been trying to make his Uncle Vernon angry when he’d said that, but now he was regretting it, and only because there was hope in Draco’s eyes and he was about to dash it.

“I didn’t… In all honesty it was more of a ploy to get Vernon upset,” Harry replied, sheepishly. “I’m sorry I used you like that, but I _did_ meant it when I said the shopping trip was a date.”

“Oh, yeah. Of course.” Draco’s expression went from hopeful to disappointed, then changed to irritation again. “Yeah, that son of a bitch ruined our date!” It was obvious to Harry that Draco was trying to quell his dismay, and if Harry hadn’t gotten to know him over the last month he wouldn’t have been able to tell. In any case, he wasn’t ready for a relationship at this point, no matter how much it hurt Draco.

“Well, how about we start over?” Harry realised that this was the second time he had proposed something of the sort. “We can still go on dates, if you like, and have a new first date. One where my uncle doesn’t come in and ruin all the fun. I’m just not sure… I’m not really ready for something serious at this point. This is all so new to me.” Draco’s face lit up and that smile was back, replacing the hidden sadness that had been present only moments before. 

“If you’re insisting, Harry, I suppose I could oblige. And now it’s time for you to play dress-up for me.” His snark was back, which Harry supposed meant he was at least in somewhat good spirits.

“What? No, I’m not dressing up. I have work in the morning, and━”

“And you’ve been staying up until two every night playing the piano horribly for two weeks. I think you’ll manage.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. So Draco had heard him playing. To say he was embarrassed was an understatement, even if he had done it with Draco hearing him in mind. Draco ushered him up the stairs to his room, levitating the many shopping bags behind him. 

“First things first,” Draco said as he flung the dresser drawers open. “We’re throwing out all your old clothes.” And then he began whipping clothes from their neatly folded piles. Harry saw one of Molly’s knitted jumpers being tossed over Draco’s shoulder and he grabbed it from the growing pile.

“I’m not throwing these away, Draco, they’re special.” Draco stopped tossing clothes for a moment and groaned as though he were in pain.

“Really, Harry? It’s not like you won’t get another one this Christmas, or every christmas after that. They’re hideous and they don’t even fit you anymore.”

“The one from two Christmases ago does,” he argued.

“Fine, you can keep that one, but that’s it.” Harry couldn’t believe he was letting Draco dispose of all his clothing and dictate what he could and couldn’t keep. It did need to be done, though, or his new clothes wouldn’t fit in the space. Not to mention that there was truth to Draco’s statement; Molly most likely had another jumper in the process of being knitted for the upcoming holiday.

The pile of clothes for discard grew ever larger, until it took up the majority of the floor space in his bedroom. Finally Draco was finished, though, and after vanishing the clothes began rummaging through the dozen or so bags of clothing on the floor and placing them in the dresser drawers categorically. Harry hadn’t realised how much clothing he already owned, but half of it had looked like school uniforms, so it wasn’t really that surprising. 

“Put this on first,” Draco ordered and tossed a folded outfit at him. It was the trousers with braces, button down shirt and green tie. 

“Seriously?” Draco gave a small ‘mhm,’ but didn’t turn around. 

Harry shook his head, but didn’t make a fuss. He left his bedroom and shut himself in the master bathroom, then undressed clumsily. He wasn’t sure how whether or not he was supposed to tuck his shirt in; he’d never worn braces before. Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember seeing anyone else wear them, either. Why Draco had even chosen braces was beyond him. He shrugged to himself and put on the tie, then returned to his room. 

“Alright, I’ve got it on,” he said, doing his best to sound like a petulant child. Draco turned from the wardrobe and started laughing. “You’re the one who bought it, so if you think it looks ridiculous that’s completely your fault.”

“No, you berk, you’re supposed to tuck the shirt in. Merlin, you’re like an infant.”

“Oh.” Draco crossed the room and began tucking Harry’s shirt in for him. “Er…” He wasn’t sure if he should say something, but Draco’s hand was getting awfully close to certain private areas, and it sent a sudden, uncomfortable jolt up his spine. He wasn’t sure how to react, as Draco’s hands in his pants was so distracting that he could hardly process his emotions enough to form a proper thought. After Draco had finished, he stepped back and looked Harry up and down.

“That’s better,” Draco said, placing his hands on his hips and looking quite pleased with himself. 

“For future reference, I do know how to tuck in a shirt, thanks.”

“Oh, shite… I-I’m sorry, I just… I wasn’t even thinking.”

“It’s okay, Draco, you were just trying to help,” he said with a chuckle. Draco was stupidly adorable when flustered. “Do I look as dumb as I feel?” 

“You look rather spiffy, actually, now that the shirt’s tucked in. Really handsome. I think I did you a favor, picking that one out.” Harry rolled his eyes. Of course he’d be proud of himself. “Next outfit, here.” Draco tossed another outfit at him, one of the suits they’d picked out. 

“This is the last one, okay?” Harry was getting rather tired, and he didn’t feel like trying on his entire wardrobe before bed.

“Just one more after this?” When Harry wouldn’t budge, Draco added, “If you do, I’ll try on the T-shirt.” He really did want to see Draco in his ‘Flaming Hot’ dragon shirt, and felt it was closer to a fair compromise. 

“Fine.” This time he changed his clothes hastily, not bothering to fold the outfit he’d been wearing. When he came back into the bedroom Draco was wearing his T-shirt, which was several sizes too large and made him look much smaller than he was. “You look absolutely comical,” he said as he started to chortle. Draco blushed, only adding to the humour of the situation. 

“It’s really soft,” Draco said, looking away. “I kind of like this fabric. Read the tag, what’s it made of?” He turned around and Harry walked to stand behind him, brushing Draco’s neck as he took the tag from inside.

“Rayon. I think it’s supposed to be some sort of silk-alternative. Do you like it?” 

“Yeah, I really do,” he said as he turned around and faced Harry. “Thanks for forcing me to buy it.”

“Any time.” Draco took a step back and gave Harry a once-over, raising a single brow in appreciation.

“Merlin’s hat, Harry, you look really good in that.” Harry stifled a smile, only _sort of_ thinking that maybe dress-up wasn’t so awful when Draco was complimenting him. “Really, really good.”

 

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” Harry watched as Draco continued to stare at him.

“Final outfit.” Draco cleared his throat, looking away finally, then picked up the third outfit, handing it off to Harry. 

 

<>

 

Draco placed his hand over his heart, begging for it to slow down. Harry had no right to be that attractive, really. Draco had always thought of Harry as a bit scrawny, but with form-fitting clothes Draco could really tell how much Quidditch, and fighting in a war, had helped keep him fit. It really wasn’t fair, and if Draco didn’t like seeing how good he looked he would regret making him buy new clothes. Even the more loosely fitting clothes were bound to look nice on him, something Draco looked forward to, but also feared. The suit, however, should be illegal for Harry to wear. At least in his presence. Before Potter entered again, Draco slipped his T-shirt off and changed back into his previous shirt. 

“Last one,” Harry said as he marched back into the room. He was wearing one of his work outfits, a nice burgundy cardigan over a grey T-shirt and black slacks that made his legs look much longer. “What do you think?”

“I think we need to return everything, we’ve clearly made a mistake,” he joked. 

“ _We’ve_ made a mistake? _You’re_ the one who insulted my wardrobe to the point where I felt it was necessary to have a new one,” Harry retorted, with just as much fire as Draco had, which was none. “If this is anyone’s fault, it’s yours.” Draco snorted.

“If you say so.” He stepped closer to Harry and tugged on the collar of his cardigan lightly. “In all seriousness, you look very handsome. Let me know if you get any compliments tomorrow, they’re all owed to me. You’re welcome.”

“Oh, is that the way it is? I’ll let you know just how horrible everyone thinks I look in the clothes you blackmailed me into buying because you’re such a pompous prat that you couldn’t stand seeing me walk around in my own house looking like a homeless person.”

“Blackmail━ excuse me! Blackmail is not in the Malfoy nature! We’re more the type to make others feel as though they _want_ to do our bidding. You know, Imperius and all that. Blackmail,” he scoffed. “That’s below us.” He’d raised his chin to peer down his nose at Harry, making sure to incorporate the sneer that Harry apparently thought was his most attractive feature. Then the two of them broke out laughing, unable to keep up their silly pretense any longer. He wasn’t sure the Imperius joke would go over well, but it had and he was very glad that Harry hadn’t thought it too dark, though it probably was. 

“Alright,” Harry said, wiping a tear from his cheek. “Are we finished playing dress-Harry-up-even-though-it’s-half-eleven-and he’s-eighteen-years-old?” 

“I suppose, but it’ll come with a price.” 

“Oh god, what could it be?”

“Is a good-night kiss so torturous?” Harry sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes.

“No, I suppose not.” At the same time they leaned forward, and since Draco was several inches taller than Harry he bumped his nose on Harry’s forehead because of the lack of timing. 

“Sorry,” Draco breathed before trying again. The kiss had better success the second time, and Harry even brought his hands up to cup Draco’s cheek, his fingers resting just under his ear. It wasn’t a heated kiss, it wasn’t clumsy and tricky as it had been before. It was warm and soft, delicate and strong at once. It did not deepen, it remained on the surface, and in a way it was even more intimate this way. When they separated they simply stared at each other for a moment, and Draco was beginning to see a pattern. It was almost as though, after their lips stopped kissing, their eyes finished the job. 

“I guess… goodnight, then,” Harry said, taking his hands from Draco’s face. 

“Yeah, goodnight.” Draco took a couple steps backward. “Sleep well.” And bumped into the door frame. “Ouch… Sweet dreams.” And finally left the room, feeling like a complete git.

Once in the solitude of his room, Draco fell back onto his bed, breathing out a soft, content sort of sigh. Other than being berated in front of an entire store by the man that had made Harry’s childhood hell, Draco had felt that the day had gone rather well. He peeked at the T-shirt that he clutched in his fist, the one he swore that he would never wear. It was incredibly soft… But it was oversized, and the only place Draco would dare to wear it was here, in his own privacy. Glancing around as if he expected someone to see him, he slipped the garment back on and peeked in the full length mirror. It really was ridiculous, but he supposed it would make a nice pyjama shirt. He slipped off his trousers, revealing pants that somehow happened to be almost the exact shade of red that was draped over his chest. Draco snorted. He slipped under the covers, which were also similar shade to his outfit, and revisited the events of the day before drifting into a sleep filled with images of Harry in suits and angry, purple-faced men shouting at him.


	10. Devastating Discoveries

The paperwork on Harry’s desk was piling quickly. He’d left his desk and cubicle one time all day since returning from the investigation on Walden Macnair, and that was to use the loo. The investigation had been a short one; they had one witness from a grubby pub in Brussels who had supposedly seen the Death Eater, and this person had no leads to go off of. When asked what the man looked like they couldn’t answer clearly. The trail was a dead-end, and Harry and his coworkers had returned to the office to busy themselves with trial paperwork, search warrants, arrest forms, and the like. 

“Why the hell is there a divorce form here?” Harry muttered under his breath. His department didn’t deal with that sort of thing because there was a department for all things marriage related, so why it ended up on his pile of parchments was a mystery. He had just placed the sheet of parchment in a separate pile from the rest, meant for other departments, when out of the corner of his eye he saw someone standing in the opening of his cubicle. Looking up, he saw Dean Thomas there, holding a _Daily Prophet_ , and looking at him with silent confusion and what appeared to be mild disapproval.

“Here,” Dean said, tossing the folded paper on his desk, which sent the pile of misplaced forms flying. Harry grunted in vexation and flicked his wand once, returning them to a neat stack.

“I’m busy, Dean. I don’t have time to read the paper.” Harry waved the man off, hoping he’d understand, and trying not to seem like a complete knob in the process. 

“Yeah, well you may want to have a look at that, is all I’m saying. Also there’s been another request for investigation on the Macnair case near Brussels, in Anderlecht. We’re starting that first thing in the morning.” Harry rubbed his weary eyes.

“Do they have legitimate evidence this time, or is it another case of ‘Maybe, I’m not sure?’” This was the third time they’d been asked to investigate Macnair, and since this time the ‘witness’ was near Brussels he hoped there was some validity to it. “I was under the impression I’d be doing training when I started, not being put on the field right away. How are we supposed to catch him if I’m not even properly trained to do so?”

“Dunno, Harry. But I’ve been told we’ll be starting training as soon as more of these escaped Death Eaters are rounded up. Guess we’ll find out, won’t we? Don’t work too late, you’ll regret it in the morning.” Dean nodded and left the cubicle. 

Harry rolled his shoulders, which were sore from sitting in the same position for the last five or more hours, and wondered why untrained Aurors were being made to work on the field. Perhaps it was due to the Ministry just getting back on its feet after being corrupted, Harry considered. There was bound to be a lot of extra work to do regarding the capture of escaped Death Eaters, as he was now beginning to experience, but he didn’t understand why the newbies were being involved in rounding them up. Surely it’d be a lot easier to track and catch these people if strictly trained Aurors were being used to do so. Then again, a lot of Aurors had been fired after the Ministry returned to the side of the Light. Some had also died during the war, and now that Harry thought about it there was a shortage of them. Still, he couldn’t help but think he’d be better off in training instead of sorting through a desk piled with papers. 

Reminded of the work he was meant to be doing, he set the _Prophet_ aside; he really didn’t have time to read it. This pile of parchments was supposed to be sorted, signed, and filed by the end of the day, which was… Harry checked his watch. A half hour ago. Great. Another late day. At least with the office being closed the paper route would be shut off for the day and the irritating ‘mail shoot,’ as they called it, would be still so he could sort the pile out. Harry had been warned about the mail shoot. It was said that for every paper one filled out, another five flitted through the small opening, which really did look like a muggle mail slot. It was like receiving his Hogwarts letters all over again, five days per week. Clenching his teeth, he resumed his effort to not be home three hours late, which had been a regular occurrence since his first week. 

After nearly two hours he was finished sorting and signing and organising the documents and forms. He stood up from his desk and stretched his arms and legs, already hating the sitting portion of his job. Then he noticed the folded _Prophet_ set near the edge of his desk and jammed it into the back pocket of his trousers. He told himself he’d read it when he got home, after he ate dinner with Draco, who was probably wondering what the hell was taking him so long. Thankful that he didn’t have to walk far, Harry found the nearest Floo and went home, stepped out of the fireplace and brushed any lingering soot from his new clothes. 

“Harry!” Draco rushed over to him from the table, holding a _Prophet._ “Harry, _please_ tell me you’ve read the paper.”

“What━no, I just got done with work and came straight home. What’s wrong?” Draco looked a right mess, which was highly unusual. His hair was normally in a neat arrangement, brushing across his forehead in a precise way. Now it was almost as messy as Harry’s. 

“Just… read the paper,” Draco said roughly. Harry pulled his out from his back pocket and gave Draco a look of concern. “We’ve been getting owls all day, Harry. Everyone’s either upset, confused, down right furious, or all three. I don’t know what to do.” 

“It’s okay, Draco,” he said in what he hoped was a calming way. “Kreacher!” Kreacher _cracked_ into the room. “Tea, please. Something that’ll relax Draco.”

“Kreacher will make Masters tea,” Keacher said as he began fussing about the kitchen.

“Harry please read the paper,” Draco said, sounding more stressed out than he’d been since coming to live with him. Harry nodded and unfolded the paper. His jaw dropped open when he saw the cover photo, which was himself and Draco snogging in the clothing store.

“What the hell━”

“Just fucking read it!” 

 

_A very strange romance seems to be taking place between the Boy Saviour, and the Boy Who Kills._

 

“The Boy Who Kills?” Harry burst. “This has got to be a fucking joke!”  
“Keep. Reading,” Draco said, his tone devoid of any emotion. Harry didn’t want to keep reading; he already knew this was going to have him fuming by the end of it, but looking into Draco’s eyes, which held all the emotion his voice lacked, he knew that he must. 

 

_An intriguing scene, to say the very least, was found in the late hours of yesterday, where our very own Harry Potter and known Death Eater Draco Malfoy were found in a muggle clothing store, passionately groping each other in full view of shoppers. This is not the entirety of Harry Potter’s peculiar behaviour, however. After being confronted by a muggle shopper, Potter became hostile, threatening the man and attempting to use his status as a heroic, battle-scarred icon to intimidate him._

_Potter and Malfoy were seen exiting what can only be assumed to be Potter’s home not long before the incident, and reports say that this is not the first time the two have been seen exiting the same location, suggesting that Malfoy may be living with Potter at this time._

_These new developments come as a real shock to the wizarding community, despite Potter’s support of Malfoy during the hearing in August regarding the dark wizard’s involvement in the Second Wizarding War. Some are even coming to question whether Potter might be under some sort of influence by Malfoy, suggestions ranging from a love potion to the Imperius curse. Why else might the man who saved the world as we know it choose to seek a romance with Malfoy, a man hated by many in the community and known to be violent and possibly dangerous? There seems to be little to no evidence to make Potter’s decisions any clearer, either (other than the aforementioned testimony on Potter’s part during the Malfoy trials)._

 

Harry skimmed the rest of the article, which delved into his school rivalry with Draco and had to stop reading. It was too much and his exhaustion from the day was making it incredibly difficult for him to control his urge to flip the heavy kitchen table over in his pique and resentment. 

“I didn’t━Uncle Vernon was the one who━” He took a deep breath. “I’ll bet Skeeter had everything to do with this,” Harry said, louder than he had planned. He searched the bottom of the page, finding her name easily. Of course it had been her. Who else would have the nerve to write such a poor excuse for an article?

“This is bad, Harry. Really bad.”

“Why━the fucking Imperius curse━you’d never!” He was so angry that he couldn’t fully produce proper sentences, but he thought back to the joke Malfoy had told the night before and it was suddenly not funny at all. Kreacher set two cups of hot tea on the table, but Harry wasn’t in the mood anymore and both he and Draco ignored the steaming mugs. 

“That’s not even the worst of it,” Draco said, putting his face in his hands. 

“Really? How could it get worse than this?” Harry had a very difficult time believing it could, but had to admit he wasn’t trying very hard once Draco answered his question in the next moment.

“My mum knows.” The absolute misery in Draco’s voice was nearly palpable. 

“Was she one of the people who sent a letter?” Harry wasn’t sure how bad Narcissa would take the news of her son being gay, but Draco’s father had apparently told Draco not to tell her, so there was no way it would be a positive response.

“She was the first. I’ve been completely cut off financially, and she’s… she’s disowned me.” That was certainly much worse than a bad report. “She told me that no son of hers, no Malfoy, would ever be homosexual, and that if it was the case, I was no longer part of the family. I’ve even received official letters from the Ministry and Gringotts informing me that I’ve been disinherited.”

“Oh, Draco.” Harry rushed to him and hugged him tightly. Draco had begun tearing up, and Harry knew that he was seriously hurt by his mother’s words, if his emotions were showing that clearly. He’d only ever seen Draco cry once, and that was when Harry had found him in one of the school bathrooms shortly after he’d taken the Dark Mark. “It’s okay,” was the only thing Harry could think to say at a time like that. He’d never really been good at comforting upset people. 

“No, it’s really not. How am I supposed to pay you rent if I’ve been cut off from the Malfoy vaults? How am I going to live with no money? Nobody’s going to give me a job; they all hate me! They think I’m some evil piece of shite, and they’re not wrong. I can’t burden you anymore, Harry. I’m making your life terrible.”

“Shut your mouth,” Harry demanded. He backed away from Draco, but held him firmly just below his shoulders, though not hard enough to hurt him or leave a mark. It was just enough to stop the pity-party being thrown and get those stormy grey eyes focused on him. Draco’s lower lip was trembling with pent up emotion and as much as Harry wanted to kiss away that shaking, he had things he needed to tell Draco. It could wait. “You are not evil━ at least, you’re not anymore, and if it helps, _I_ don’t think you ever were━ you are not shite, and being gay does not make you either of those things. You already said you hated the Malfoy name, and if that’s the sort of stuff it represents, I think you’re better off without it.” Draco started to speak, but Harry continued on. “You haven’t made my life worse. You’ve made it better, actually, and I don’t give a fuck about rent. If you need a place to stay you have one. It was your pride that decided you’d be paying rent in the first place.”

“Harry, I couldn’t ask that of you━”

“You’re not asking. I’m telling. You can stay here as long as you want. Don’t worry about anything else; not the reports, not your mother, not the finances, not anything. And if anyone gives you trouble, let me know. As an Auror it’s my job to protect wizard citizens, you first and foremost.” Harry could tell Draco was about to say something when the Floo activated and Molly stepped into the kitchen. 

“Harry, I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, sounding slightly out of breath. Harry’s hands dropped from Draco’s shoulders in his surprise. “Draco, it’s good to see you, too.” She sounded less genuine and her smile was more than a little strained at the edges. Harry knew what she was here for; if she’d already read the paper, which she tended to do every morning, then she’d want to know what was going on.

“Draco,” Harry said, looking down at him. He looked as though he’d shrunk into himself sitting in the chair and Harry didn’t want to ask him, but he had to. “Could I have a moment alone with Molly? I’ll try to keep it short and we can discuss this more later. I’ll have Kreacher start dinner.” Draco nodded solemnly and got up to leave the kitchen. As soon as the creaking of the stairs signified that he was at least on the first floor, Molly began speaking rapidly.

“What is going on? I read the paper this morning, and it said some rather alarming things. I saw the picture… is it true? Are you and Draco… together?” Harry stifled a sigh, reigned in his anger as it would be unproductive to direct it at Molly anyhow, and sat down where Draco had been a moment before. Several deep breaths later he felt he’d collected his thoughts well enough to speak in an even, calm-ish tone. 

“It’s half true. We’re not in an official relationship, but last night was sort of a date. What’s absolutely not true is that I’m under Imperius or a love potion and that Draco has some nefarious plans about this whole thing.” Molly looked somewhat relieved, but not completely.

“How can you be sure of that, Harry? I mean, how can you know?”

“I know because I’ve lived with him for over a month, I’ve known him since I was eleven years old, and he’s completely different than everyone thinks. He’s not evil, he’s not pretending.” Harry was half tempted to tell her that Narcissa had disowned him and he still hadn’t said he was leaving. While it said a lot to Harry about how Draco really felt about him, it wasn’t his information to divulge.

“Harry, a month is a very short period of time. You can’t possibly know that his intentions are pure. As much as I’d like to think he’s different now, I…” Molly paused and seemed to be considering her next words carefully. “I just want you to be safe.” 

“I realise that, Molly. I’m thankful that you care about me enough to be worried, but I think I can handle this on my own.” He was sick of this already, and if the letters that he’d received while he was at work were anything similar to Molly’s conversation he was less than interested in looking at them. “Is there anything else you want to say?”

“No━”

“Then have a nice evening.” Molly looked hurt by his pressuring her to leave, but didn’t linger any longer. When the green flames had died, Harry turned to head up the stairs in search of Draco, but was halted when the hearth roared back to life behind him. Expecting Molly to come back to have a last word, he ground his teeth together, turned around and was completely taken aback when Hermione stepped through the green flames and into the kitchen. 

“Harry!”

“Hermione?” Harry sputtered as she flung herself on him. If he was expecting any sort of gesture from her, it wasn’t a hug. “What are you━aren’t you in school? How are you here?”

“Well, I’m technically supposed to be, but I’m finished with all my classes for the evening, and studying for my N.E.W.T.s and I had to come see you. How dare that awful Skeeter _cow!_ I read the whole article Harry, and I can’t believe it, she said the nastiest things—”

“Hermione, she wasn’t completely lying.” In order to keep Hermione’s hostility to a minimum, and cushion the blow of what he was about to tell her, Harry felt it necessary to nip her rant in the bud. It wouldn’t do to let her go off about the situation when he would have to tell her that the article was closer to truth in some aspects than others. 

“What do you mean, she’s not lying? Of course she is! I don’t know how she managed to get a picture of you snogging Malfoy, but there’s no way that’s true. Not all of it, at least.”

“Well, she got her basic facts straight,” Harry admitted with a sigh. “I am bisexual and I am dating Draco. Just dating, though. We’re not… _boyfriends._ ” Hermione seemed taken aback for a moment, but then snapped back into her tirade.

“She still made it out to be really awful. Threatening a muggle? I wouldn’t have put it past her to have made the whole story up, but I’m sure that at least some of it is grossly exaggerated.”

“No, she got that right, too.”

“What?”

“The muggle was my uncle.”

“Oh.” She seemed at a loss for words. Her mouth was agape as she stood staring with wide hazel eyes. When she finally found her voice again all of the fire had been taken out of her. “So… It’s all true, then?”

“Well, n-not exactly.” Harry wasn’t sure if he should tell Hermione that Draco had changed. He was prepared to defend Draco again if need be, but he didn’t look forward to it; even if Hermione believed him, he was sick of having to explain himself already this evening. With working overtime, coming home to this cluster-fuck, and having his companion going without his comfort upstairs, Harry was ready to be done with justification and admissions in general. There was no avoiding explaining the situation, however. If he didn’t tell her voluntarily she would force the information out of him. “She made Draco out to be some sort of horrible dark wizard out to get me, Hermione, but he’s really not. He’s a lot different and nobody seems to want to accept that I might be right about that.” 

The note of plea in his voice was painfully obvious, and he wished it wasn’t there at all. He had no idea what Hermione might think of him for it, but was surprised when her response was merely a quiet, “I hate her.”

“Wait, so you don’t think I’m lying? Or under Imperius?” Harry couldn’t believe that she wasn’t picking apart his argument on Draco’s behalf.

“No. That is… I don’t know what to think of Draco. I mean, he’s always been a mean and bigoted prat, and made our years at Hogwarts incredibly difficult, and fought on the wrong side of the war, and was a Death Eater, and called me mudblood a lot, and tried to kill Dumbledore, and━”

“Okay, Hermione, I get it.” He knew all of these things, was trying to see past them to who Draco really was, and being reminded of them was nothing but irritating.

“Sorry,” she said with a slight blush. “I also trust you, Harry. Draco might have been a bully in school, but you and I both know that he was forced to do a lot of the things he did, and that the reporters play on the bad aspects of everyone. Especially Rita Skeeter. God, I loathe that woman.” While Hermione had spoken softly through most of her statements, the last one was full of abhorrence and malice, a tone of voice that could still strike fear into Harry’s heart, even when it wasn’t directed towards him. 

“I know you do. I’m not exactly fond of her myself.” Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head with disdain. 

“Is he… is he living with you?” Hermione looked to the stairway, as though she expected him to walk in at any moment.

“He is. He’s upstairs right now, probably distraught because━” He’d been about to tell Hermione about Narcissa disowning Draco, but stopped himself. “It’s all been a bit hard on him, too.” His poor finish came a bit too late, though, and Hermione jumped on his bait instantly. 

“Because of the article? Or did something else happen?” Harry didn’t like how easily Hermione could read him. If he hadn’t known for a fact that she’d never studied Legilimency he would wonder if she used it on him frequently. More likely than that, though, was the probability that he was simply too obvious when trying to hide things. He’d never managed to fool Aunt Petunia for long and she had about a quarter of Hermione’s intelligence. 

“I wasn’t going to tell anyone… It’s not exactly my information to share. It’s sort of personal, you know?” He shuffled his feet a bit as he avoided answering her.

“Harry, I’m not going to tell anyone. What’s going on?”

“I really can’t—”

“My mother disowned me,” Draco interrupted from behind them. Harry jumped and Hermione whipped around. Draco’s eyes were puffy and lined with red, and his hair was still disheveled. Harry could tell he’d been crying and moved to comfort him, but Draco held up a hand. “No, I’m alright. I expected this to happen eventually. Well, perhaps not this exactly, but something similar to it.” Hermione looked back and forth between the two wizards, her expression an odd mingle of sympathy, surprise, and worry.

“How could she do that?” Hermione asked, having regained her composure once more.

“Easily; by removing my name from our Gringotts account information, writing me out of the will, and, once she gets the manor back, changing the wards so that I’m unable to gain entry.” His tone held a fierce sort of bitterness to it. “As she phrased it, being a homosexual is worse than if I’d been sentenced to life in Azkaban. She said the titles ‘Malfoy’ and ‘gay’ can’t coexist.” 

“I— that’s— that’s really awful.” Hermione’s face had softened, but she had flinched at the bite in Draco’s words, which seemed to scare her a bit. She chewed her lip, apparently at a loss for words.

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve had enough of skirting around the issue. She was bound to find out eventually. Harry’s worth more to me than stupid gold, anyway.”

“But your mother—” Hermione started, but Draco cut her off before she could complete the thought.

“She can sod off, too. Nothing I’ve done has ever been good enough for her.” There was a thickness behind Draco’s words that, upon hearing it, caused Harry’s heart to clench in response. Draco may have been attempting to show that he didn’t care about what was happening, but it was clear as day to Harry that he was still just as distressed as he’d been earlier. 

“Oh, Draco, I’m sure that’s not completely true.” The conviction was missing from Hermione’s tone when she said this. “I’m sure that your mother loves you in her own way.”

“I honestly can’t recall the last time she said so,” he tossed back. “And really, it’s none of your business anyway. The only reason I told you is because I’m sure Harry was about to.” He must’ve realised that he was starting to lash out at the wrong person and took a deep breath. Harry couldn’t stop himself at this point and strode over to Draco, taking his hand and squeezing it tightly. 

“I know your mother loves you. The only reason she told Voldemort I was dead was because she needed to know if you were alive. That’s got to mean something. She risked her life in the hopes that you were okay.” Draco didn’t continue to argue, but sunk onto one of the kitchen stools, leaning against his crossed arms. Hermione looked like she wanted to say more, but instead walked over to Harry and Draco.

“Well, I should probably be getting back. They’ll start worrying about me if I don’t show up soon.” She gave Harry a swift goodbye embrace and turned to face Draco, who was facing with his back toward her. “I’m really sorry about your mother, Draco.” She placed her hand on his shoulder briefly, gave Harry a sad sort of smile, then turned away to the fireplace. With a short cry of ‘Hogwarts!’ and a burst of bright green flames, Draco and Harry were left to their solitude again.

 

<>

 

As soon as Granger was whooshed away, Draco slumped. The effort of trying to feign lethargy about what his mother thought, said, and had done had been incredibly devitalising, but he wasn’t about to break down in front of Granger. It had already put him out of his comfort zone to admit all of what he just had to her. Besides, she looked as if she might have exploded from pity if he had acted any more vulnerable. He’d meant it when he’d said that the only reason he’d told her was because Harry was bound to. That was the sort of information he would prefer not be spread around behind his back, no matter how good Harry’s intentions were, or how much he thought he could trust Granger.

She had stood up for him, though. After everything he had said and done to her, Granger had actually stood up for him. His slight joy was quickly extinguished by guilt, however, as he recalled exactly how many times he’d called her Mudblood, and all of her responses to the instances. At the same time, though, he noticed that he hadn’t referred to her as such mentally in a long time, but even her punch to the face hadn’t really made his past behaviour any more excusable. Everything she had said against him had been the truth, and the thought that she could forgive him so easily was bewildering. He probably owed her a real apology, and as soon as he felt capable of writing a letter he meant to send her one. There was no way he would be able to apologise in person, and he was sure that if he did he wouldn’t get out half of what he wanted to say. All of the years of hearing his parents’ supremacist convictions clashed against his own efforts to be a better person than them. Time and again his upbringing would win and he would end up saying something that he didn’t mean, not really. He was tired of being the person that his parents raised him to be. He had seen where that path led and it left him with mental scars and a self-hatred he couldn’t seem to shake, no matter what he did to try and repair the damage done to others by his actions.

He might have stopped crying, but he hadn’t been able to keep his resentment toward his parents at bay. Every time he thought of them, and Granger’s pity, it rose again, burning the inside of his throat and making his eyes sting. Without him meaning it to, a small sob bubbled from his lips. His shoulders tightened with the threatened sobs to come and he did everything he could to keep them from showing. 

“Draco…” Harry sat on the stool next to him, scooting it closer so he could wrap an arm around the broken man Draco was being. His head rested against Draco’s shoulder. The weight of it was comforting and his hair was softly brushing Draco’s cheek. Harry smelled of a oakmoss and sandalwood, and Draco wondered how those scents had escaped his notice before now; it was aromatherapeutic to an extent. Harry brought him out of his minor distraction when he said, “We’re going to figure this out.”

Draco wanted to say that there was nothing to figure out, that things were this way and that was that. He wanted to say that even if there were things to be figured out, it wasn’t up to Harry to do it for him, that it wasn’t his bloody job to fix everything all the time. He wanted to say that Harry didn’t know quite how bad things were, as he hadn’t yet read the letters he’d received that day. Draco wanted to say many things, but his voice had stopped working and all he could do was produce his mother’s letter to Harry from his pocket and hand it over. 

“Is this━ this is from your mum?” Draco nodded and Harry clutched it warily. Harry just stared at the folded, regal looking parchment, and Draco noticed that he had the faintest tremor. Finally he opened it, and Draco closed his eyes, not wishing to read his mother’s words again; they’d already been engraved into his memory. 

 

<>

 

_Potter,_

_It has come to my attention that you and Draco have taken it upon yourselves to ruin the Malfoy name further than it has already been. I show you mercy for the sake of protecting my only child, and your repayment is repulsive displays of affection? In a muggle mart, no less. It was evident that Draco had queer tendencies from the time he was a young boy, and your presence in his life has never helped the matter, but I had hoped against hope that it was a passing phase._

_You owe me a life debt. I kept silent when you needed me to most. Don’t think that I’ve forgotten. My terms are simple: you will stop seeing Draco. You will not allow him sanctuary in your home. You will break all contact with him. If you think that today’s front page article was bad, the fabric of your existence will be shaken to its core if you do not heed my instructions. Suffice it to say that, though the Malfoy name is soiled, I still have a great many connections._

_Draco is not welcome in our society, and if this game the two of you are playing continues, he may never find his place in it again. If he does fall completely from grace, I will see to it that you go down with him. This will be your only warning._

_-N.M_

 

“This is blackmail,” Harry gritted. “This is blackmail, it is illegal, and she won’t get away with it.” He slammed his fist into the table, causing Draco to flinch away from him. “I never thought I’d say this, but I’m glad I accepted that Auror position.”

“Harry… what are you saying?” Draco sounded apprehensive and fearful, but Harry wasn’t concerned with that. He’d been threatened, and after all the fighting he’d done, all the threats to his life that he’d only narrowly escaped each time, he was finished putting up with it. 

“I’m taking this to Shacklebolt first thing in the morning.”

“No, Harry, don’t! She’s not going to do anything━ she’s bluffing. Please don’t take it to the Minister, or she’ll be thrown in Azkaban.” Draco’s pleading did nothing to soothe the storm that had erupted in Harry’s veins.

“And she deserves as much! She disowns her only child, threatens to make our lives a living hell, and just _gets away with it?_ I don’t fucking think so! I’m done sitting back while other people try to run my life!” Draco stared with fear at Harry, and he made the conscious effort to calm down, taking several deep breaths. This only lowered his anger by a fraction, much to his chagrin. His blood was still racing, his heart pounding, his palms sweating. He took a sip of the now lukewarm tea that Kreacher had set out so long ago, but it helped very little.

“If you take this letter to the Minister my mother will be thrown in Azkaban.” Draco repeated measuredly, slowly, as if he were explaining String Theory to a toddler. “It doesn’t matter how long she is in prison, when she gets out she will seek revenge, and it will be worse than anything she could conjure up now.” 

Harry hadn’t even considered that, which wasn’t a surprise. He wasn’t thinking of consequences for his actions, but for Narcissa’s. In his fury he hadn’t been thinking of the long term effects of bringing Narcissa to justice for her petty threats. Harry’s hand flew to his hair and brushed through it roughly, snagging on knots that had formed throughout the day. 

“All I’m asking is that you please think before you do anything out of anger,” Draco continued, still speaking softly. As mellow as his voice sounded, Harry could see the fear in Draco’s silver gaze.

“Was this part of the plan all along?” Harry asked, unable to stop himself from lashing out at Draco. “Is this what you wanted? 

“I have no idea what you mean.” Draco opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. Harry had just the vaguest sense that if he continued accusing Draco of having malicious intent, he very well could ruin everything they’d built together, which wasn’t much, but was worth a lot to the both of them. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean anything.” He was so filled with emotion that he couldn’t think straight, but he knew that if he didn’t backtrack now he would regret it. “This has nothing to do with you, or me really. It’s your mother and her stupid archaic views.”

“Were you just trying to say that I’d planned this entire situation?” Draco was apparently ignoring Harry’s ill remark about his mother, having finally caught up. Harry felt his gut tightening in fear. “You really think━” He interrupted himself to laugh dryly. “Yeah, because I’ve always wanted to have no money, no mother, no place to call my own, the societal sword over my head. It’s great, Harry, absolutely spectacular. And all so that I could get my revenge on the man I’ve secretly liked since I was eleven years old.” Harry didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to respond to the biting sarcasm that tainted Draco’s words and for whatever reason his mind was stuck on his last comment. Guilt ravaged him, and if he felt bad for saying it before, he felt a thousand times worse now. “You know, I actually thought… I thought you’d started to trust me. I had hoped that maybe, out of everyone in this stupid fucking world, I could at least depend on you.” Before Harry had a chance to formulate a response, Draco had rushed from the room and up the stairs. 

 

<>

 

Draco stared heatedly at the hole he’d made in the drywall of his bedroom. It would’ve been simple to magic the wall fixed, but he wanted the evidence of Harry’s betrayal to stay and remind him not to trust so easily. Harry hadn’t attempted to follow him, which was for the better because he wasn’t interested in talking to him anyway. He needed time to think, to collect himself. After all that had happened that day he knew it was time to be alone. Draco slumped down onto his bed and covered his face with his hand. 

Would this be the end of his and Harry’s ‘relationship,’ or whatever it was? If Harry thought so poorly of him, thought that Draco would risk everything he’d wished for since he was a child on trifles such as these, he wasn’t sure he could bear it. All of the gold in his family’s Gringotts vaults meant nothing in comparison to the dream he’d been living ever since Harry had allowed him to stay here. His mother’s acceptance was important━more so than he cared to admit to himself━but even with the prospect of losing her he had stayed, for Harry, for what they’d begun together. Maybe he was just being childish, thinking that he and Harry had a chance of working out to begin with. That seemed to be the case. He could think of little else besides the accusing look on Harry’s face, the anger in his tone, the blaze of Floo-like fire in his eyes as he’d asked Draco if this had all been staged. 

“Fuck Potter,” he grumbled, instinctually reverting to using Harry’s surname in his sorrow fueled rage. “ _Fuck_ mother, _fuck_ wizard society, _fuck Skeeter!_ ” As irate as he was he’d thought his tears had run their course, but his shoulders began to shake with the heaving sobs that escaped him. Nothing was going the way it was supposed to and he thought that maybe it never would.


	11. Reunion and Capture

_What the fuck is wrong with you? I was ready to forgive you for what you did at Malfoy’s hearing, and then I read the paper just to find out that you’re snogging him in public! Has the world gone fucking mad? Has the knob really gotten a love potion in you? Is that what this is about? Why is he living with you? Why is he allowed within one hundred feet of you? WHY ARE YOU SNOGGING MALFOY? Consider yourself one friend short until you get your priorities straight. I can’t believe you chose fucking Malfoy over my sister. You really are a piece of work, Harry._

_Fuck off._

_-Ron_

 

Harry wanted to Floo to Hogwarts just to kick Ron’s teeth in and leave. He’d known Ron’s would be one of the letters he’d have to read, but it had ticked him off more than he’d thought it would. It didn’t help that Draco hadn’t left his room in two days despite his attempts to draw him out of his self-induced solitary confinement. Harry was on the verge of mental breakdown, and had owled into work that day, feeling unable to brave the disapproving stares of his coworkers. He needed to get the letters out of the way, and he needed time to recuperate after the mess that he’d accidentally caused by showing Draco his affection publicly. Inhaling deeply, he unfolded the next letter in the pile.

 

_Harry,_

_I sincerely hope that what I’ve read in the news isn’t true. Is it? The photo makes it really hard to think it’s not. I know you said you like blokes as well, but… Malfoy? Really? I can’t help but feel slightly offended. What could you possibly see in him? Have you forgotten all the things he did in school? Have you forgotten the fact that he’s a Death Eater? Honestly, Harry, I don’t understand. If there’s some secret Malfoy I haven’t met yet, who’s not a wanking shite-monger, I’d be glad to know. It would make more sense than you snogging the same Malfoy we’ve known for years. I really hope nothing horrible is happening, and that Skeeter just twisted things like usual. Please write back, Harry. Everyone is worried._

_-Ginny_

 

It seemed a bit far-fetched that everyone was worried. Ron obviously wasn’t worried. Ron was a dick. Ron was practically begging for a Knee-Reversal Hex. Harry tossed Ginny’s letter into the pile of opened letters to his left. He only had one left to read, and he was unable to guess who it was from, but he opened it anyway.

 

_Harry!_

_Congrats on leaving that old dusty closet behind!_

_-George_

 

Harry couldn’t help but chuckle at George’s short note. It didn’t refer to any of the events listed in the article, nor did it mention Harry’s relationship. It was simple and to the point, and didn’t involve any personal feelings. With all of the negative responses he’d gotten it was the perfect comic relief for the situation. Harry stacked the letters into a neat pile and set them in the drawer of his writing desk, then pulled out several rolls of parchment and dipped his quill in ink. His first letter was addressed to Ron, and he placed his quill on the parchment and began writing, doing his best not to let his anger rip the page.

 

_Ron,_

_If you really think that the way I interact with Draco is something worth dropping me as a friend for, then I’m not the only one who has priorities in need of sorting out and we’re probably both better off not speaking. I assure you that I won’t be losing sleep over the matter, in any case. I’ve got far more important things to be focused on at the moment, and if you’d take a moment to, for once, not let anger rule every poor decision you make, you might find that the same applies to you._

_Thanks for nothing._

_-Harry_

 

The letter was short and Harry hoped that it expressed disapproval and simultaneous apathy towards the matter. He wasn’t actually apathetic about Ron’s letter, but he thought that if he made himself out to be that it would get Ron’s goat even more than if he were to blow up verbally. Harry had briefly considered sending Ron a Howler, but he wasn’t as upset as he would need to be for that anymore, and it would only perpetuate the rumors that Harry was acting strangely and possibly under Draco’s influence in some way. 

Satisfied with the contents of the letter and not really giving a damn if Ron would be upset upon reading it, he set it near the inkpot, then moved on to his response to Ginny.

 

_Ginny,_

_I remember everything Draco did. It would be really hard for me to forget. He’s definitely not the same person he used to be, though I don’t expect you to believe me without having any proof. I think you deserve a real explanation, but I’m not completely sure I could give a good enough one without using up my entire stock of parchments. Maybe during your next break from school we could get coffee together, or something, and I’ll fill you in. I could even come up to Hogsmeade if you’d like. That is, if you’re really interested. I’m not sure how exes are supposed to act towards each other, so I’ll leave it up to you._

_Most of what Skeeter wrote had some truth to it, but it was written in a way that makes me look bad, as she’s in the habit of doing. What’s worse to me is the way she’s portrayed Draco, but I wouldn’t expect you to fully understand that bit, or anyone else for that matter. I’m sorry if my being close with Draco offends you. That was never my intention, and I hope that someday you’ll be able to accept him. I see a lot in him, most of which nobody would believe if I told them. I’m not even completely sure if it’s something that can be told, or if you just have to see it, but there’s a lot more to him than the person I thought I knew back at Hogwarts._

_Hope school’s going well. Feel free to write me more if you have the time._

_-Harry_

 

There was more he’d wanted to say, but not enough room on the paper, so he set it aside to dry beside his letter to Ron. He wrote a third letter to the _Daily Prophet_ asking for an interview. If they were going to put his name in the paper they may as well have an accurate story, straight from him. In the letter he specifically stated that he would not do an interview if Skeeter were the interviewer. He planned to ask Draco if he would accompany him to the interview, but it was nearly lunch time and Draco hadn’t come out of his room at all, as far as Harry knew. He stood up from his desk and went down to the first floor where Draco’s room was. When he knocked he didn’t expect an answer; he hadn’t gotten one any of the other times he’d tried to get Draco to come out. Still he hoped that this time would be different. No response came, though, and he struck his knuckles against the rough wood harder.

“Draco? Please come out. It’s been two days.” Harry thought he heard the shifting of bed springs, but couldn’t be sure. “I know you can hear me.” When there were no other signs of Draco’s presence on the other side, he rested his head against the door. “I’m really sorry, alright?” Waiting. More silence. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. He sighed and his open hand closed into a tight fist against the door before he backed away from it and returned to his room to gather the letters. He thought a trip to the post office might help him cheer up, or hoped it would at least take his mind off of the distance that had sprung up between himself and Draco. 

 

<>

 

As soon as Draco heard the front door shut he peeked out from his bedroom door, hoping that the sound hadn’t been a figment of his imagination. At this point he was losing his resolve. He was beginning to feel guilty for having shut himself away for so long, but he felt the need to punish Harry for saying the things he had, for not trusting him. Harry’s strained voice had almost gotten the better of him, but he couldn’t bring himself to open the door. The apology wasn’t enough, when Draco thought back on it, but the emotion behind it had almost been. Draco knew it was only a matter of time and the right words until his restraint dissolved, but Harry hadn’t said them yet. Thus, he continued to wait. 

Making his way to the kitchen, his stomach growled. Kreacher had come at his call, but he hadn’t been very hungry the last couple of days. His body was catching up with the maelstrom of feelings he was drowning in, though, and he needed to leave his room just as much as he needed food. He reached the kitchen and stared vacantly into the full pantry. Nothing looked appetizing, and he found himself staring at a spider that was descending down a string of web instead of the food his body was craving. 

“You’re ugly and I hate you,” Draco told the spider. It was true— he had never liked spiders— but he knew that his anger wasn’t directed at the creature. It was just an outlet for him, and with a jolt he thought of Harry again. It was as though the spider could understand him; it stopped and twirled slowly in midair. “You don’t even belong here.” He wasn’t sure whether he was talking to the spider anymore, and upon realising this he slammed the pantry door shut and settled on eating a block of cheddar he found. It wouldn’t be very delicious on its own, but it would fill his stomach. He didn’t know how long Harry meant to be gone, so he didn’t feel like risking cooking a full meal. On top of that he wasn’t sure he had the energy it would take to do so and didn’t feel like calling on Kreacher for help. 

The stairs’ creaking echoed through the empty house as he returned to his bedroom and it dawned on him that he was really starting to miss Harry’s company. He missed teasing him and seeing him wear the clothes Draco had helped him pick out. They hadn’t played the piano together since that first time, but Draco found himself missing Harry’s awful attempts, too. He sat on the edge of his bed and took a large bite of the cheese, letting the sharp flavour unfurl over his taste buds, and closed his eyes to the world. When he took his second bite of cheese he heard the front door open one floor below him and tensed. Everything in him was shouting to go down there and talk to Harry, to set aside the conflict and try to get back to where they were. Everything but that one voice, which at first had been loud and overpowering, but was now nothing more than a faint whisper, that told him to stay put. He would not give up. He would not give up. He would not give up.

But then footsteps came to his door and stopped, and he opened his eyes. Though nothing was said, he could hear the scraping of something against the wooden floorboards as a shrunken box was slipped beneath the door. The footsteps moved on and up the stairs. Draco stared at the box for a while before he set the cheese down and crossed the room to investigate. It was a case of Glacial Snow Flakes, a candy that Draco had only had once, but had enjoyed immensely. He opened the box excitedly and was greeted by a note covering the lovely glimmering flakes of candy snow. 

 

_I was a prick. Please forgive me. I miss you._

 

Harry missed him. Damnit. Draco knew that his will was about to break. He clutched the paper in his hand and looked back down at the box of candy, letting out a sharp exhale through his nose.

His brain presented him with the memory-induced taste of coconut and his mouth watered. With gentle fingers he removed one palm-sized, parchment thin flake from the row and snapped off a piece in his mouth. Instantly it began to melt, icy cold on his tongue in a pleasant way. This was not the apology he’d wanted, but it was close enough that he stood up and left his room, nearly jogging up the stairs to the fourth floor. Harry’s bedroom door was open, and he was sitting on the edge of his bed, eyes closed, much like Draco had been.

“So, what? You expect me to forgive you over a box of cheap candy and a poorly written apology?” he asked quietly from the doorway. Harry opened his eyes and they met Draco’s as surprise etched across his features. It was then that Draco felt his determination crumble.

He didn’t stop to question his decision, or lack thereof, he simply marched into Harry’s room and threw himself at him, knocking him over in the process. 

“Dra—!” Harry shouted in a startled yelp. “Draco…” He could feel Harry’s relief as one of his arms encircled Draco’s waist and the other went around his shoulders. Both held him firmly to Harry’s chest while Draco hid his face in the curve of Harry’s neck. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. I was just angry about the situation and your mother’s reaction and I took it out on you. I don’t even know what I was thinking.” When Draco only responded by nuzzling against him further, Harry continued. “I didn’t take the letter to Shacklebolt, either.”

“What? You didn’t?” Draco lifted himself away from Harry, shocked, but the hands that held him stayed put. He hadn’t expected this information. Harry shook his head. There was guilt swirling in the depths of his irises and moisture lingering in the corners near his nose. 

“No. You were right. It’ll only make things worse. Besides, there isn’t really a lot ef evidence against her, anyway. From an objective standpoint, she could just be saying that she’ll make me look really bad if I don’t comply. That’s not a hefty enough threat to mean anything, but she could get in trouble for it because of your family’s history. It isn’t worth the battle. Not with the Ministry involved, anyway.”

“So… that’s it? You’re not going to do anything?” Draco wasn’t ready to believe that Harry had given up on the matter. “But you were so angry!” Harry’s hand tightened where it sat on the nape of Draco’s neck, only slightly.

“Well, yeah. But that’s how it usually goes with me, right? Besides, I didn’t say I wasn’t going to do _anything._ I just don’t want to see your mum chucked into Azkaban, if only for your sake.” Draco didn’t quite know how to feel. While he was touched that Harry had changed his plans for him, the tone of his voice was concerning.

“So what _are_ you going to do, then?” Despite what Harry said, Draco was still worried about his mother, both for her freedom and for her possible retribution.

“I haven’t really decided on that part, yet. I’ve got to think it through some more.” Harry sighed, looking more aged than the young eighteen years that he was. “I was considering writing her, but I’ll need to be careful if I do that. I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said.”

He couldn’t help it. Not with the sincere, solemn look on Harry’s face, at least. Leaning forward, he wrapped his arms tightly around Harry’s torso, his lips just brushing against Harry’s jaw before he rested his chin on Harry’s shoulders. He was so tightly wound with Harry’s body that he could feel the rise and fall of Harry’s chest. His breathing mimicked Draco’s own: slow, yet restrained, as if he was trying to steady himself. The feeling of Harry against him, calm and soft and caring, was a release for Draco. If there had been any leftover anger from his previous resolution, it now dissipated, leaving only his immense joy at their reconciliation.

Harry loosened his grip, but Draco felt only a split second of disappointment before Harry’s lips met his. Draco’s immediately parted at the joining, and Harry responded enthusiastically but with a carefulness that made everything about it seem to be fluid. There was an ebb and flow to the kiss, and Harry’s hand transitioned smoothly from Draco’s neck to his face, his other never leaving Draco’s waist. Even Draco was fluid, softening at Harry’s touch, conforming to his shape. They broke apart, and again Draco was let down, only to be surprised as Harry’s lips grazed his neck. Draco wasn’t sure if he wanted to stiffen or melt at it, and he could feel all the minuscule hairs on his body raise as if electrified. He leaned into the touch of Harry’s kiss against his throat, surprised further when Harry’s teeth gently scraped the skin near his ear. A gasp came from somewhere, and Draco wasn’t sure if it had been him or Harry, but it only added to the intensity of the situation. He moved a nervous hand to Harry’s waist and his fingers dug into the flesh there. Harry’s shirt had been pushed up a bit with their movements, something that did not escape Draco’s notice. 

When Draco began to feel a tightening in his trousers he abruptly climbed from atop Harry’s languid body. Anxiety and fear pulled the breath out of him rapidly and he had difficulty trying to catch it. 

“That escalated quickly,” Harry said as he sat up beside Draco. 

“Yeah, it did, didn’t it?” He wasn’t sure what else to say, as he was still trying to calm himself down, mentally and physically. Harry shifted beside him and angled himself more towards Draco. 

“So, I meant to ask you before, er, before things got carried away, if you wanted to do an interview with me.” Draco felt his stomach clench at the idea.

“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea. Why are you doing an interview? Won’t Skeeter just skew your words anyway?” 

“I’m not doing an interview with her. If they let me do one I’m going to make sure someone else does the interviewing. But I wanted you to come so that you could get your story straight. The way she talked about you… That’s what upset me more than anything, really. I want you to have a chance to tell your side of things, and I don’t think it’s a bad idea to explain ourselves better.” 

“I’m confused,” Draco said as he shook his head slowly. “Are you saying that we should come out with our relationship as well?” 

“I don’t see why not. They’ve already outed us without our permission and dragged our names through the muck. I think you especially deserve a chance to tell your story. Plus who are they to judge us? I think it’s time to put the media in their place when it comes to making such a huge deal about someone’s sexuality. It shouldn’t even make a difference.”

“Harry,” Draco began softly. “I hate to rain on your parade but I don’t think it’s your sexual preference that the media, and everyone else, is upset with. At least, not wholly. I think it may have more to do with who you’re involved with.”

“That’s exactly why I think you should help me with the interview. Sure, I could tell everyone how you’ve changed, how you’re not the same person you used to be and how much you’ve grown, but they’re never going to believe it unless it comes from you.” Harry was gazing at Draco earnestly. Draco disagreed and thought that anything would be absorbed better by the public coming from Harry, but he knew that this was something he was going to have to do eventually anyway. He just wished it could wait.

“Alright, I’ll go with you━”

“Really?! Thank you!”

“On one condition,” Draco finished, a smirk playing on his lips. “You have to massage my back.”

“Er, what?” Harry’s brows inched towards each other. “That’s… that’s it?” 

“You should be glad that’s all I’m asking for,” he said with a chuckle. He didn’t really know what else he would ask Harry for, but his back had been hurting quite a bit, and the knots in his muscles were those that he couldn’t reach on his own, and stretching wasn’t helping. 

“Well, if that’s all you want then I suppose I could do that for you. But you’re not getting it until after the interview.”

“What, you don’t trust me to hold up my end of the bargain?” He’d only been joking, but when Harry’s face contorted a bit with culpability he thought he could’ve phrased it better. 

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Draco.” 

“I was kidding.” But the atmosphere was already stiff between them.

 

<>

 

“I do trust you.” Harry wasn’t convinced that Draco had been completely jesting. He’d sounded as if he was, but after what had happened between them Harry couldn’t help but feel like there were dual meanings to his supposed joke. Draco’s lack of response to Harry’s statement only added to his feeling. 

The air in his bedroom seemed to thicken and Harry wondered how they would get past the mistake he’d made only two days before. Not enough time had passed between Harry’s apology and his accusation. 

“Are you hungry?” Harry asked. Even to him the discomfort in his voice was blatant. 

“I am starving, actually. I think I’d like to eat some more of the Glacial Snow Flakes you bought me. You didn’t have to do that, by the way.”

“I know I didn’t. I went to the post office to mail my letters and on the way back I thought…” Harry debated on telling Draco the reason behind his buying the candy, but decided that honesty would get him further than excuses, even if he only made them out of embarrassment. “I thought it might butter you up a bit. I was ready to do anything to get you out of your room, and if the snowflakes didn’t work I was going to keep buying you things until you you gave up.” Draco laughed, and Harry didn’t realise how much he’d missed the sound until it was there. 

“Trying to buy my forgiveness, were you?” Harry was about to get defensive again, but noticed Draco’s smirk.

“I wasn’t trying to buy your forgiveness, I was trying to buy you out of your room.” Even as he calmed himself, knowing that Draco was only joking, he couldn’t quite keep from being a little irked.

“Well, it worked, but don’t expect it to next time. So who did you write to?” 

“I’m hoping there won’t be a ‘next time.’ I wrote to the Daily Prophet, of course. First I wrote to Ron, then Ginny.” Draco’s eyebrows tilted in confusion.

“You _actually_ wasted the ink and parchment it took to respond to Weaselbee’s letter?” Harry laughed at that nickname, having forgotten about Draco’s use of it in the past. Maybe before Ron had sent his letter he would’ve defended him, but at this point he couldn’t care less what Draco called him.

“I did, yeah, but only to tell him he’s a nutter.” 

“Still a waste of time, if you ask me. Not like he’s going to change his opinion on us.” Harry realised at that moment that Draco must’ve read his letters.

“You went through my mail, didn’t you?” Draco’s face paled.

“What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean. How else would you have known Ron had a bad opinion on us to start with?”

“Well— how was I supposed to know that certain letters were addressed to you? Nobody wrote your name on the outside or anything! It couldn’t be helped, really.” 

“Sure it couldn’t have,” Harry scoffed. In reality he wasn’t mad, but it still felt like his privacy had been invaded. He probably would’ve done the same thing in Draco’s position. “Just ask next time, alright?” Draco looked perplexed, as though he’d expected Harry to continue to chide him.

“You’re not mad that I read your mail?”

“Not really, no.” Harry recalled the name Ginny had called Draco in her letter and felt the need to address that. “You’re not a wanking shite-monger, by the way.”

“I’m ever so thankful for your reassurance,” Draco said snottily. “She’s probably just jealous is all.”

“She’s not.” Harry didn’t really put his heart in defending Ginny. He wasn’t upset with Ginny any longer, but he knew for a fact that jealousy was not the cause of her letter or her insult. “She’s worried.”

“Right, for no reason, which leads me to believe that she’s jealous. What did you write back to tell her?” 

“She’s not worried for no reason, she’s worried because as far as she knows you’re the same person you’ve always been, and I’m sorry, but it’s kind of strange that after all these years I’d be pursuing anything romantic with you. Even to me, but I’ve been able to get over that for the most part because of the fact that you’ve changed.” Harry sighed and continued. “I wrote back to offer her a real explanation, which I feel she deserves.” Draco was quiet for a moment, but didn’t appear to be upset by his answer. He kind of nodded to himself for a moment, then pursed his lips, and finally relaxed them before responding.

“I guess I can understand that. So you didn’t explain anything in the letter, then?”

“I did, but it was a short explanation compared to the one I’ve got rummaging around in my brain for her, or anyone who asks.” 

“So you’re going to defend my honour?” Draco asked in a teasing tone. “My very own Boy Saviour, how lucky am I?”

“Please, stop calling me that.” Draco’s smile faltered at Harry’s exhausted tone. “I can’t stand that nickname. I can’t stand that I’m not just Harry, I’m all these other things that always get in the way of Harry and it just… It gets old.” There was a soft, uneven tapping on the window of Harry’s bedroom, interrupting their conversation. Harry got up to open the curtains, then the window, letting the large owl into the bedroom. It winged around the room twice before dropping the official looking parchment it held in its beak onto the bed beside Draco. When it perched on the window sill it grabbed at Harry’s sleeve and Harry gave it a treat to take back with it. Satisfied, the owl jumped out the window and took off.

“This looks like something from the Ministry,” Draco said uneasily.

“It’s probably not, and if it is, it’s probably just Shacklebolt inquiring about my absence from work today.” Harry sat back on his mattress next to Draco and when he took the letter, sure enough there was the Ministry seal over it. He opened it and began reading, hoping that it was only a letter addressing his absence, but as he read his hopes were dashed.

 

_Officer Potter,_

_I am writing to inquire about your safety. It has become increasingly worrying to us that the rumors going around state that convicted Death Eater Draco Malfoy is sharing a domicile with you. As you have failed to attend work today, the Auror Department has taken it upon themselves to investigate the situation. Should you fail to respond to this by the eleventh hour this morning, you will find that you will have company._

_-Gramble Dunkins, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement_

 

Harry’s hands were shaking by the time he finished reading the letter. He’d thought he’d had a reprieve from people barging in on his personal life when they most definitely were not welcome, but he had apparently been wrong. Checking his watch he saw that it was fifteen minutes until eleven. If he were to write out a response right now, perhaps it would get to the Ministry in time, but he highly doubted it. 

“How fast can your owl fly, Draco?” Harry asked gruffly.

“Who was it from?” Draco asked, ignoring Harry’s question. “What did they say?”

“How fast?” he shouted. Draco flinched, but didn’t waste time responding.

“I don’t know, pretty fast. Why?” Harry didn’t bother answering, but pushed the letter into Draco’s hands, crumpling it in his haste. He got to his writing desk as fast as he could, not bothering to sit down before taking a piece of parchment and inking a quill. 

 

_Mr. Dunkins_

_There is no need to investigate, I will explain everything tomorrow morning._

_-Auror Potter_

 

He ran from the room, down the stairs to Draco’s and barged into the bedroom, going straight to the covered owl cage. Cosmos looked utterly aggravated when he saw that it wasn’t Draco interrupting his slumber, but Harry. 

“Please, I need you to take this to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Cosmos, and fast!” The owl tittered, crouched back in his cage and narrowed his eyes, clearly not wanting to cooperate. “I’ll buy you a rat, an entire rat that you can have all to yourself! Just take the bloody letter!” 

“Cosmos, take the letter, little one,” Draco said gently from beside Harry, causing the latter to jump. Cosmos looked much more likely to go by Draco’s orders than Harry’s and took the letter in one talon, hopping on the other to the open door of the cage. Harry went to the window, throwing it open with a loud bang, and shortly after Cosmos was gone.

“Do you think we’ve got enough time?” Draco asked, his voice tight with what Harry could only assume was the same anxiety and anger he was feeling himself.

“We can only hope.” But as the words escaped his mouth he heard the sounds of several pairs of loud footsteps coming from the lower levels of the house. “Fucking hell. They’re early.” Harry did his best to put on a mask of casual indignance to cover up the fiery rage he was really feeling and gestured for Draco to follow him.

The ground floor was crowded with about half a dozen Aurors, all dressed in their dragon scale armor. Every one of them looked prepared for battle, from their apparel to the expressions on their faces. Harry hoped that a simple explanation would get rid of them, but he had a feeling that this may not be the case. As he approached the group of Aurors he noticed that Dean was there, looking less than happy about having to be part of the investigation squad. When the group noticed Harry and Draco coming towards them, they all turned and went into a diamond shaped formation, wands at the ready. John Dawlish stepped forward out of the formation to address Harry, keeping his wand raised. 

“We are here at the behest of Dunkins, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” Dawlish began, a smirk twisting his cruel lips. His eyes shot back and forth between Harry and Draco where he stood behind the former. “We’ve come to investigate your absence from work today, and the rumor, which seems to be true, that you’re harboring a Death Eater.” Harry struggled to keep his eyes from rolling, barely managing it.

“That’s all well and good, but Draco isn’t a Death Eater anymore and he’s been released from Azkaban because he was able to prove his innocence, if you don’t recall,” Harry said firmly, hoping he didn’t sound as peeved as he felt. 

“With all the news being reported about his threat to you we felt it important to see what was really going on.” Dawlish ignored Harry’s defence and the way he did it made Harry think he was glad to have the opportunity to make Draco’s life more difficult. “I’m sure you won’t mind at all if we take him in for questioning, seeing as you’re an Auror and have such a worthy moral compass.”

“I would mind that, actually. Does it look like I’m being threatened? Honestly.” Harry was losing the cool demeanor he’d been struggling to keep in place from the start. “Any questions you need to ask can be asked right here, can’t they?” Dawlish shook his head.

“I’m afraid not, Potter. We’re under explicit orders, y’see, so we’ll just be taking Malfoy into custody.”

“Who filed the request to investigate?” Harry asked, already knowing the answer by the pleased look in Dawlish’ eyes. 

 

“I’m afraid I’m not inclined to answer your questions at this time,” was Dawlish’ short reply. He took a step closer to them and Harry threw his arms out protectively in front of Draco, who had yet to say anything about the situation. 

“He doesn’t seem to be affected by a curse or anything, Dawlish,” Dean muttered, which Harry was immensely grateful for. Dawlish seemed set, however, and took a step forward. Dean seemed to take this as a hint to leave matters be; he was probably just afraid of being reprimanded, but Harry wished he would continue to speak in his— or Draco’s, rather— defence. So much for reputed Gryffindor bravery.

“I’m also involved with this, so if you want to take him in you’ll have to take me too!” Dawlish continued to ignore his shouting while Dean and another Auror came to hold Harry back. Another cast wrist binding spells on Draco and Harry could see the fear and confusion on his face. Harry looked to Dean for help, but his expression was unreadable as he gripped Harry’s arm. “You can’t take him! Leave him alone!” Nobody was listening to him and Draco’s eyes became even further panicked as Dawlish and two other Aurors escorted him from the room towards the stairs. “ _Let him go, you can’t do this!”_ Mrs. Black’s portrait began to scream as Harry struggled against the two Aurors who held him back. He heard the whoosh of the Floo and knew that they’d already taken Draco. The two restraining him released him and Harry could feel bruises forming on his wrists and upper arms from how tightly they’d had to hold him as he attempted to break free of their grasps. 

“I’m really sorry about this, Harry.” Dean said as he stepped away, releasing Harry’s arms. “I’d tell you who filed the request, but you probably already know who did it. See you at work tomorrow.” 

Harry had the strongest urge to spit in Dean’s face, but held it back. It would only make things worse if he were to act out at this point, only he was sure they’d take it out on Draco just to get a rise out of Harry. The Floo activated again and Harry sank to the floor, letting Mrs. Black’s screaming drown out any thoughts of how badly Draco had been beaten in prison before, or how badly he’d be beaten this time.


	12. Catch and Release

It was dark in Draco’s holding cell, but at least it was warm. He’d thought, in his panic, that he would be taken back to Azkaban, but thankfully the Ministry had holding cells for those who weren’t being accused of very severe crimes. Draco wasn’t even sure what he was being accused of, as the questioning hadn’t begun yet. He couldn’t tell how long it had been since he’d been tossed in the cell. They’d taken his wand easily; he was not resisting in the slightest. He knew what would be assumed if he were to resist in any way, so he had done his best to bite his tongue and be as respectful as possible, if only for Harry’s sake. These were his co workers, after all, and anything Draco did while in custody could be taken out on Harry at work. 

There was a bed in the black room, and while it was much more uncomfortable than the one at Number 12, he was thankful that he wasn’t being forced to sleep on a cold, dank, stone floor. At one point Draco had drifted off, and when he awoke it was to the sound of the steel door being opened and light flooding into the room. 

“Rise and shine, Malfoy,” said a feminine voice. Draco sat up in the bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, then looked to see who it was at the entrance of the room. She looked to be in her mid forties, slim with dark hair in a tight ponytail that seemed to pull the skin of her forehead back with it. 

“Who are you?” he asked cautiously as she shut the door behind her. 

“You can call me Grant. I’ll be starting with the questioning.” She flicked her wand and the sconces that Draco hadn’t known were there lit up at once. “Seems that someone thought you’d do better without the lights,” she said under her breath. Conjuring a stool, she sat across from him in the compact space. “Don’t even think about trying anything, Malfoy,” she warned, not bothering to look at him and pulling a clipboard and quill from her robes. “There are two guards outside listening in, and they’ll be here faster than you can say ‘chocolate frogs.’”

“I wasn’t planning to.” Draco was offended that she thought he might become violent. He had no reason to, and every reason not to. 

“Just letting you know. Can’t be too safe around a convicted Death Eater.” He flinched at the title that he felt hadn’t belonged to him the moment he got the tattoo, but she didn’t seem to notice or care. “Alright, I suppose we should get straight to business. Now, are you living with Harry James Potter?” Draco nodded. “That’s no good, I’ll need verbal responses.”

“Yes, I am.” She jotted a quick note. 

“And how long have you been living with him?” 

“I don’t know the exact date.”

“Give an estimate.”

“Since the day that news article was published about… about me attacking those reporters. Which isn’t what happened, by the way.”

“Don’t care,” she said brusquely as she wrote. “Why did you come to live with Potter?”

“He told me that his house was big enough for me to stay there and when I said that I didn’t need his help we argued about it for a while. At first I wasn’t planning on agreeing to it, but he talked me into the idea.”

“Sounds dubious, but not completely unlikely.” She still hadn’t looked at him, but was writing on her clipboard as he spoke. “There was news of the two of you having a brawl in Diagon Alley the day before you began living with him, and that the two of you dined together afterward. Was there any point in these two instances that you were capable of slipping Potter a love potion? Amortentia, perhaps?”

“No!” Draco shouted. Her eyebrows lifted a bit and she pursed her lips as she wrote another note. He told himself that if there was any chance of this going well he needed to keep calm. “No, I wouldn’t do something like that. If you ask him, he’ll tell you the same thing. I’m sure that barmaid watched the entire situation and she could probably confirm this.”

“Funnily enough, we did ask her and she said she couldn’t be certain,” Grant replied in a slightly bitter tone that Draco was sure was meant to be directed at him. “And we can’t count on anything from Potter in the case that he _is_ under Imperius or Amortentia. Anything we ask him could be misconstrued due to his current state.”

“What current state? I’m telling you, I’ve never done _anything_ ━”

“Don’t care,” she repeated, cutting him off mid defence. “If we were to take Pensieve Evidence about the situation would we find that your memories don’t match up to your story?” Draco took a deep breath, then several more before responding. This was too preposterous. 

“You would find that they do,” he said calmly. 

“Would you give us permission to do just that?”

“I don’t see why not.” Perhaps if he were to let them go over his memories they would see that he had done nothing wrong and didn’t deserve to be there. “So long as I get them back in the end,” he added as a precautionary measure. 

“Of course you’ll get them back again,” Grant said with a harsh chuckle. “Not sure what kind of torture _your_ lot subjected others to, but that’s not how things go around here.”

“And what lot is that meant to be?” 

“I’m the one asking questions here. Speaking of, I have more for you if you’ll kindly let me get to them.” Draco sat still, trying his best not to say anything in his defence that could prolong this process. “Are you and Potter in a relationship?” 

“No.”

“No lies, now. We’ll be double checking everything with the Pensieve, so there’s no reason to hide any information from us.”

“I’m not, and Harry and I are not in a relationship.”

“We’ll just see about that. Obviously you’re on a first name basis.” She said this as if it implied contrary to what Draco had told her, but he really wasn’t lying and she would find that out soon enough.

“Harry and I have gone on one date, if you could call it that, and that’s it. We’ve snogged once or twice, but we’re not in a relationship.”

“Anyway. Have you ever performed Imperius on anyone besides Potter?”

“I’ve never performed the curse, period.” Grant glanced up at him from beneath her eyelashes. It was the first time she’d looked at him, and it was a look of complete disbelief. “It’s true.” She looked back down at her clipboard.

“How long have you been a homosexual?”

“Is that really important?”

“Answer the question.”

“Ever since I can remember.” He really didn’t see why this was needed information, but he dared not argue with her.

“And how long have you desired a partnership with Potter?” Merlin, she was really peeling back all the layers he’d built up. This was something he’d denied to answer for himself for a couple of years, and he did not want to answer it to her, but there was no way around it. He didn’t know what sort of things they did to people who refused to cooperate, but he wasn’t inclined to find out. 

“I’ve wanted to be his friend since I was eleven. Relationship-wise, not until recently.” This was a version of the truth, at the very least, and it was the only way he felt comfortable answering her question. “I don’t see why you need to ask me these things if you’re going to be taking my memories anyway.”

“There are very few memories we need to take. If we were to take too many you would find yourself in a vegetable state, and that would not be a very good thing, now would it? Not that it would bother me in the slightest if there were less of your kind in society. Not to mention we need to see how trustworthy you are based on the answers you’ve given.” Draco found that with every comment she made about ‘his kind’ his self control was slipping away. Deep breathing was just barely helping him stay calm. He reminded himself that this was not a permanent situation and that soon enough he would be back home with Harry. 

“Home,” he said aloud, not meaning to. He’d really just referred to Grimmauld Place as home. Even to him it was strange that he thought of it as such, but when Grant gave him a questioning look he pressed his lips together tightly. 

“Last question. Are you involved with any other Death Eaters in any way, shape, or form?” Draco thought to when the last time he’d spoken with his father was. Almost as if reading his mind, Grant added, “Excluding your father.”

“I haven’t spoken to my father since before he was imprisoned. Other than that, no.” She didn’t give any hint that she believed otherwise, but stood up, packing away the clipboard and quill into her robes once more. 

“That should do it. Someone will bring you food shortly and take the required memories at that time.” Draco simply nodded once in response and watched her leave. He was already sick of this. It was all based around the ridiculous rumors spread by a reporting agency that was known for stretching the truth. He could understand on a certain level; he had had a school rivalry with Harry that everyone knew about, had done all he could in school to make Harry’s life hell, had been raised by one of Voldemort’s right-hand men. There was little evidence to support that Draco had no ill wishes for Harry back then or now. In a way he could see why this was necessary, but he wished that it didn’t have to be. 

 

<>

 

Work dragged by for Harry. All he could think about was Draco and the fact that he wasn’t home where he should be. He worried that they were mistreating him, worried that they weren’t feeding him, weren’t providing for him the way that a human being should be provided for. His coworkers were giving him strange looks all day that ranged from mildly concerned to downright hatred. It was difficult to ignore. The only person who seemed to not have changed in the last day towards Harry was Dean. Dean had even stopped by Harry’s cubicle to inform him that he would be starting his intensive training next Monday, since the majority of the list of Death Eaters had been taken care of. Harry had completely forgotten about training, but he recalled Tonks mentioning that while she’d been good at Concealment and Disguise, she’d nearly failed Stealth and Tracking. He couldn’t bring himself to look forward to the change of pace, however, with Draco in Ministry custody. 

When Harry was finished with work that evening he went straight to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and requested visitation with Draco. They denied him visitation, stating that it was past visiting hours. 

“What are the visiting hours?” he asked the stout, chubby man behind the service desk, who barely looked up from the donut he was eating messily. He vaguely recalled one of his coworkers talking about a man working as secretary for MLE named Edgar who was a lazy arsehole. He wondered if this man’s name happened to be Edgar. 

“Monday through Friday, ten to noon.” Harry rubbed his face in exhaustion.

“I work during those hours.”

“Looks like you’ll have to wait, then, won’t you?” Giving the man a tight and unfriendly nod, Harry walked to the Floo room and went home to an empty house. 

It felt very strange not having Draco in the house. They’d only just started talking again after two days of silence, but somehow even knowing that Draco had been there and ignoring him felt better than him not being there at all. Harry went up to the first floor and made sure Cosmos was well fed before he noticed the Glacial Snow Flakes sitting on Draco’s bed. It looked as though he hadn’t eaten any of them, and Harry closed the box up, setting them on the nearby dresser, so that they would stay fresh for Draco’s return. He sat on Draco’s bed and wondered for probably the hundredth time that day if he was okay. Flashes of his beaten face at the court hearing kept popping up in Harry’s mind, making it difficult to keep calm. He wanted to go back to the Ministry and demand that they let him see Draco, to use his status as hero to gain entry to the holding cell. The only reason he didn’t was because of what had been said about him in the papers, how he had used his status as a threat towards his uncle. He didn’t want to be ‘that bloke.’ There were already too many like that and he refused to stoop to that level. All he could do was hope that they weren’t planning on keeping him for long. 

He didn’t realise that he had fallen asleep in Draco’s bed until he woke the next morning. It was Saturday, and he didn’t have to work, but that wasn’t something Harry could look forward to anymore. Work had at least done well as a distraction, but now he had all day to stew on the fact that Draco wasn’t there. He went downstairs to ask Kreacher to make him breakfast, but thought that making it himself might take his mind off of things. Cracking three eggs in a bowl, he whisked them with some milk and seasonings and let a greased pan heat on the old stove. He drank some orange juice and then poured the egg mixture into the hot pan. As the eggs sizzled in the pan, he lost his hunger altogether. Though he tried, he couldn’t help feeling guilty; what if he was eating and Draco was being deprived? His eggs became a lot less appetizing. 

“Kreacher,” he called. The crack that sounded behind him, which normally made him flinch, did not affect him. “I’m making you breakfast.”

“Master Harry will do no such thing,” Kreacher said, coming to stand beside Harry. “Let Kreacher make breakfast. Master Harry will sit.”

“No thank you, Kreacher. Today’s your new day off.” Kreacher’s jaw dropped open and fear twisted his already gnarled features.

“Master jests! Kreacher will not! No, no, no! Days off are not acceptable!” Kreacher grasped the spatula in Harry’s hand and tried to pull it from his grasp.

“Kreacher, stop.” He continued to pull. “Stop, that’s an order!” Kreacher stopped pulling, but his hand remained wrapped around the spatula while he glared at Harry fiercely. “I’m _ordering_ that Saturdays are your day off and that either Draco or myself will make you breakfast that day.”

“Master would not…” Kreacher’s voice was full of horror, as though having a day off was the worst thing Harry could’ve told him. No, the worst thing Harry could tell him was that he wouldn’t find his head on the wall beside his mother’s after he died, but there was no way Harry would break his heart that way. Harry secretly planned to remove those heads from the wall at his earliest opportunity, and before Kreacher could keep him from doing so.

“I would. On your day off you can do whatever you wish, so long as it does not constitute as work.”

“Cruel, horrible master! Filth! Blood-traitor!” Harry knew this was not going to end well and that it was time to backtrack. “Disgusting Master doesn’t know━”

“Alright! Bloody hell— fine!” The eggs were burning. “Get rid of this mess for me, I take back your day off.” Kreacher cracked a smile, if you could call it that with how distorted his face was. 

“Kreacher thanks his kind master,” Kreacher said as he took the spatula and took care of the burnt eggs. Harry thought back to Hermione’s attempts to free Hogwarts’ house elves and remembered how badly they’d taken it. He didn’t know why he’d expected this situation to go any better. With the thought of Hermione came a sudden desire to see her. She wouldn’t have classes, as it was a weekend, and he decided that he would write to her and ask if she could meet him in Hogsmeade. 

After he wrote the letter he went back into Draco’s room, having to take several deep breaths before entering, and gave Cosmos the letter. Cosmos was hesitant to take it at first, but after much coaxing from Harry he finally did. It was several hours later that Cosmos returned with Hermione’s reply. Harry sat down on Draco’s bed and opened it.

 

_Is something wrong? Of course I can meet you. Say, noon, outside of Honeydukes? I need to pick some things up from town anyway, so it’ll give me a good excuse to get out. I hope nothing too bad has happened._

_-Hermione_

 

Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he read her letter. That would get him out of the house and hopefully some advice on his situation. Harry just hoped that she wouldn’t use this as an excuse to bring Ron along. He was sure that Ron wasn’t ready to make up just as much as he wasn’t. Not to mention with how upset Harry was regarding Draco’s situation he didn’t think he could listen to Ron talking badly about him. 

Checking his watch he saw that it was twenty til noon and he thought it would be better to leave now so that he didn’t have to be alone in the house where Draco was supposed to be. He went down to the ground floor and left the house, warding it behind him, then Apparated to Hogsmeade. Hogsmeade looked different in the fall; it was strange without the snow covering it. Walking down the lane he saw that there weren’t many people in town, and that suited him just fine. It would’ve made him turn around and head home if he’d been made to sign any autographs or do any impromptu interviews. 

He stood outside of Honeydukes and waited for Hermione, who showed up shortly after he got there. She was early, but then she usually was, so it wasn’t much of a surprise. When she got sight of him she jogged the rest of the way, thankfully alone.

“Harry,” she said as she got to him, out of breath. Hermione hugged Harry briefly, then asked, “Is everything alright? You didn’t tell me why you wanted to meet. What’s going on?” They began walking at a slow pace, not having any direction, but both not wanting to stand idly.  
“Draco’s been taken into MLE for questioning.”

“Oh, no.” She didn’t look surprised, despite her tone.

“Oh, yes. All because of that Skeeter article in the _Prophet_.”

“Harry,” she said before pausing. “I take it you haven’t read today’s paper?” Harry was confused. He normally got a copy every morning, but he hadn’t slept in his own room the previous night, so the owl that delivered it probably left after not being answered. 

“No, I haven’t. Why, did they say something about Draco?” Hermione’s lips went into a tight line.

“Yes, they did. Skeeter did, in particular. You’re not going to like this, Harry. Honestly, you probably shouldn’t read it, it’ll only add to whatever you’re feeling right now.”

“Well I can’t very well _not_ read it now that I know they’ve written about him. Wait, did they write about him, or me?” It wasn’t as though it mattered. Either way it was bound to be a terrible news report. 

“Well, both. Really, you should just let the matter drop. I’m sure he’ll be released soon. They might even release him today.” Harry could tell that Hermione was only trying to be positive, to help Harry feel better about the situation, but it was only adding to his irritation.

“What did they say?” He hadn’t brought any money with him and couldn’t buy a paper, so he figured hearing it from Hermione would be better than nothing. “And don’t omit anything just because you think it might upset me. I can handle it.” Hermione released a long sigh before she replied.

“Basically… Skeeter said that Draco was being detained by the Ministry because there were suspicions about your relationship.”

“But we’re not _in_ a relationship,” Harry said quickly. 

“I know this, Harry. I’m only telling you what she said.”

“What else did she write? That can’t be it.”

“She said that it’s likely that Draco will be back in Azkaban soon because all signs pointed to him using some sort of dark methods to convince you to be with him. She said… Harry, can’t you just let it go? I’m sure it was all lies.”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s all lies. Look, if you won’t tell me I’m going to go into one of these shops and ask to borrow a paper, so you might as well get on with it.” It was an empty threat. The last thing he wanted was to ask one of the shop owners to read their paper, to stand there while they gave him dirty looks, or looks of pity. If they were to comment on Draco in a negative way he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold his tongue on the matter, and it would only cause a scene, which would probably result in another bad article about him.

“Fine,” Hermione said stiffly, believing his threat was legitimate. “She said that Draco was a carbon copy of his father and deserved whatever poor treatment he got while he was being detained. It was mentioned that there were no lingering doubts as to whether or not you were under the effects of a love potion.” Hermione shook her head. “She said that when Draco was taken by Aurors you became violent and screamed at them, that you had to be held back for fear of harming them. She even went as far as to say that your position as Auror would be withdrawn over the ordeal because of your behavior. That’s about it.”

“Bullshit. All of it.”

“I know, Harry. You were the one who asked, so don’t shoot the messenger.”

“I’m so fucking sick of that woman. I didn’t become violent. Yeah, I was angry that they took him, and they held me back before I started yelling, but I wasn’t going to hurt them!”

“Harry. I know.”

“And I haven’t been slipped a bloody potion! And I’m not getting fired, I went to work yesterday and nobody said anything about me being fired!”

“Calm down!” Hermione shouted, bringing Harry back to his senses. “I’m sure that whatever she wrote was either highly exaggerated or false entirely. Believe me, Harry, I know how Skeeter works, so you don’t need to try and convince me. This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”

“I was going to hear about it eventually.” Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, wishing there were some way he could put Skeeter out of a job for this nonsense. 

“It’s okay. This will all be in the past soon enough, and eventually you and Draco will be left alone. I’m sure some other scandal will come up that will take the attention off of you.”

“Fat chance,” Harry said spitefully. “Can’t catch a break, can I?”

“You will in time. The war hasn’t ended half a year ago, you’re bound to be the talk of the wizarding world for a while. I know it’s not something you want, but it’s how it is. Better to just ignore it.” Harry nodded. He needed a change of subject.

“How’s Ron taking everything?” Hermione’s mouth tilted into a frown.

“Not well. Especially not after your letter came. I tried to get him to come with me to see you, but he refused. He gave the excuse that he had homework, which I know isn’t true because I’ve practically been doing it for him.”

“I hoped he wouldn’t come,” Harry said honestly. 

“That’s something I wanted to talk with you about, actually. Harry, you and Ron have been best friends since first year. That’s not something everyone has and I think it’s really stupid of both of you to let this get in the way of your friendship.” Harry stopped walking and rounded on Hermione.

“I’m not the one who threatened our friendship! Ron was, and so he’s the stupid one in all this! All I did was tell him to sort out his priorities, and I don’t think that was wrong of me. It was petty of him to start this fight to begin with.”

“I’m aware of this, but your letter didn’t help the matter.”

“And what was I supposed to do? He said that I could consider myself one friend short because of all this!” 

“I didn’t know he said that,” Hermione said quietly. 

“Well he did, and if you need proof I still have the letter he wrote to me. I didn’t start this fight and I won’t be blamed for it. Ron’s the hot-headed one who couldn’t keep his fat mouth shut if it meant saving his life.” They’d started walking again and Harry had to force himself to keep a slow pace due to his new upset.

“What a mess.”

“You’re telling me. First I have to attend Draco’s trial and everybody blames me for getting him freed, then he comes to live with me and he’s this giant prat for the first week. Then he starts to show his true colours and I start to really like the person I’m seeing in him and everyone loses their minds! Now I’ve got my best friend hating me because I was _happy_ , of all things, and the person who made me happy is locked up in the Ministry _because_ he made me happy!” Hermione started to giggle. “It’s not funny!”

“It is when you put it that way,” she said defensively, still laughing lightly. Harry let his words replay in his mind, and for whatever reason he started laughing too. It did sound ridiculous the way he said it. If only it were all one big joke. “Listen, Harry,” Hermione said calmly, letting her giggles fade. “This too shall pass. I know how cliche that sounds, but it’s true. It may seem like everything’s falling apart right now, but things will work out. You’ve been able to stop darker forces than Skeeter. Though I’m beginning to think she could be right up there with Umbridge, at least.”

“Too right,” Harry said with a grin that reflected the irony of the situation. If only Skeeter had been forced to write ‘I shall not tell lies’ into the back of her hand. “I’m trying to get an interview with the _Prophet_ , by the way. Set things straight.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? She’s just going to twist whatever you say.”

“I’m not going to do an interview with her. I wrote to them offering for an interview and said that the only way I’d do it is if someone else interviewed me.”

“That still sounds precarious. How do you plan to go about setting things straight?”

“I’m bringing Draco with me.” Hermione’s eyebrows raised at that. 

“Do they know you’re bringing him?”

“No. I don’t see why I should play fair if they don’t intend to.”

“This is a dangerous game you’re about to play, Harry.”

“You literally just said that I could take Skeeter down if I tried.” Hermione scoffed.

“You’re using the word ‘literally’ out of context, but I’m sure you have everything it takes to do just that. Really, you should be careful still.” After a short quiet period Hermione asked, “Have you spoken to Ginny at all since all of this started?”

“Yeah, she wrote to me about the news of mine and Draco’s supposed relationship. I explained what I could without writing a full essay and told her that if she wanted a better explanation we would have to meet up in person. She seems to be taking it better than Ron, at least, which is strange considering she was my girlfriend and Ron… well he’s just Ron.”

“You know how he can be, though, especially when it comes to Draco. He used to tease Ron a lot in school and I think he’s having the hardest time letting that go. It’s kind of sad.”

“I think you mean to say pathetic.”

“Oh, come on, even you can’t be so fooled as to think that Draco didn’t mean every single thing he said.”

“No, you’re right. He probably did mean a lot of it, but he was a kid. Kids say stupid things. He’s not that person anymore.”

“ _I_ believe you, for the most part, but it’ll take Ron more convincing. I’m not sure if he’ll ever fully accept Draco, if I’m being completely honest.”

“Well let’s hope that he does one day, because I’m sick of everyone treating Draco like he’s worthless, or just another writing tool.”

“He will. Just maybe not one hundred percent, which is understandable.” Harry hated that he could agree with her, but it was true. Even he could understand why Ron harbored resentment for Draco after all they’d been through. 

Harry and Hermione walked together in silence for a while and Harry asked her how school was, how her grades were━ perfect, as always━ before they hugged and went their separate ways. Overall Harry’s visit with Hermione had gone well and he felt a lot better when he got home. It helped that Kreacher had prepared treacle tart to go with the herbed Yorkshire pudding he made for dinner. He still felt strange in the empty house, but he told himself that Draco would be home with him in no time and it would all blow over soon.

 

<>

 

A hard slap to the face. That was how this Auror had woken Draco up. His cheek stung as he quickly sat up. The Auror who stood beside him, a man who looked as though his life was nothing but misery, looking down on him with disgust.

“Time to get up, lazy sod,” the Auror grunted. Draco didn’t justify this with a response, but took the thin blanket off of his legs to signify that he would do as he was told. Contrary to what Grant had told him when she’d left the day— or night? Draco couldn’t tell— after questioning him, nobody had come to feed him or collect his memories. 

“What time is it?” Draco asked groggily as he stood up. 

“Does it matter? It’s time for the Pensieve, boy, so get a move on.” The Auror brandished his wand and cast a Stinging Hex that struck Draco in the centre of his solar plexus, causing him to double over. “There’s more where that came from should you decide this is your opportunity to try something shifty, do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.” Uttering those words brought Draco back to Azkaban, and he was beginning to wonder if he suffered a case of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. 

A binding spell was cast around his wrists again before he was brought out of the cell. The Auror jutted his wand into Draco’s back and steered him through the Ministry to a strange portion of the building that he hadn’t ever been to with his father on their occasional visits. Draco assumed it was the Department of Mysteries, but he couldn’t be sure. Eventually they came to a room that was completely empty aside from what Draco assumed was a Pensieve. 

“Are you taking my memories now?” Draco asked, feeling slightly nervous. He’d never actually used a Pensieve, and hadn’t had his memories taken before. 

“I won’t be. Couldn’t pay me enough to be around you that long.” Just then Grant entered the room. “Thank Merlin, I’ve had about enough of him.” The man left the room and Grant approached him with all the stiffness that she’d shown the last time they’d met.

“Morning,” she said. Draco nodded his good morning. His voice was sure to shake if he said anything at that moment and he refused to show any weaknesses in front of these people. “This shouldn’t take long at all. Just need a few of your memories and that should cover everything.” Again Draco nodded and Grant placed the tip of her wand to his temple. When she pulled it away there was a silvery strand dangling from the end of it which seemed to be blowing in a nonexistent wind. 

“That-that’s a memory?” He couldn’t help but ask the question, even though his voice did tremble slightly. It looked like something that would only come out of Luna Lovegood’s head, but he didn’t really know what he was expecting it to look like to begin with, so he couldn’t think it too odd. 

“Indeed.” He tried to think of what memory had been taken, but it was gone, so there was no way for him to pinpoint which one she had. 

Grant cast a sticking charm to his feet, presumably so he couldn’t attack her, and let the wispy strand of Draco’s psyche go in the pool of liquid that was held by the Pensieve. She then lowered her face to the liquid. It took what Draco thought was several minutes before she stood up straight again. 

“Well, it looks like you’ve learned to behave yourself and act more like a normal person thanks to Potter’s efforts.” Draco said nothing, but was sure his face was just as tight as his throat felt. “And it looks like you haven’t lied yet. We’ll see if the rest of your memories prove your innocence.”

Grant pulled the memory from the pool and returned it to Draco’s head. As it entered him he recalled the heated discussion that he and Harry had had in Diagon Alley through to the lunch they’d shared. She pulled another memory from his temple and repeated the process. When she returned that one he remembered being surrounded by reporters outside of his tent and running away, then receiving Harry’s Patronus and directions to meet him in Diagon Alley. 

This went on for some time and Draco was forced to remember each day of his life at Grimmauld Place one day at a time. At first Grant had only taken small memories, but as it came time to get the bigger questions answered she’d taken full weeks of his memory. It felt really strange, having large portions of his life missing, but those pieces were put back after only a short time, which made it bearable. The part that he hated most was the parts of his memory that exposed his true character, even though those were certainly the ones that would gain him positive points in her opinion. Those talks he’d had with Harry were incredibly personal and Draco wished that nobody would have the ability to witness them, not even an Auror. Finally she was finished searching his head, and he found himself hoping that he would be told he could go home now.

“Well?” Draco asked as she stood staring at him. There was no tone to his voice, only the simple question of, ‘are we done yet?’

“Well,” Grant repeated. “It seems I’ve misunderstood you completely.” Draco was not expecting that response at all. “I’ve sifted through the memories of many a Death Eater, and I must say you’re nothing like them.”

“I tried to tell you,” he said under his breath. She either hadn’t heard him or disregarded his comment. He was already feeling his anxiety slip away with her assessment of him.

“We may have made a mistake bringing you in here. Had to be sure…” Grant sounded nervous now. “When Dawlish requested an investigation I thought… We all thought— he’d made it seem like there was real evidence to go off of. We wouldn’t have approved your arrest if we’d known. _I_ certainly wouldn’t have. Bollocks, this is bad.” Draco had already figured it was Dawlish who’d started all this just by how happy he’d seemed to be taking Draco in. He was also pretty sure he knew what was making Grant sound so panicked.

“I’m not going to press charges over this,” he said, and her face visibly relaxed. “I just want to go home.”

“That’s something I believe we can work out now.” Grant removed the binds on his wrists, along with the sticking charm on his feet, and he rubbed them as his blood began to flow to his fingertips again. A buzzing began in the depths of his chest at the prospect of going home to Harry. Grant opened the door to the room and led the way back through the Ministry towards DMLE.

“H-his hands!” someone began shouting from behind them. “They’re not bound!” 

“Mind your own business, Randall,” Grant called back over her shoulder. Draco didn’t even bother to look back and knew somehow that it was that rude Auror from before. He told himself to ask Harry about him when he got home, after he explained about Dawlish. 

They came to an office that Draco assumed from the photographs on the wall belonged to Grant. If Draco’s guesses were accurate, she had a daughter who was probably in her third year at Hogwarts, if the photo was recent, but there was no man in the photos with her. Instead there was a woman. 

“Is that your partner?” Draco asked, pointing to one of the pictures. He was feeling much braver now and his voice did not shake, though he did sound quieter than usual due to the nature of the question he was asking. 

“My wife, yes,” Grant responded, not looking up to him. She was busy sorting paperwork of some kind.

“I thought same sex marriages weren’t legal.”

“They’re not. It’s a common law marriage, not recognized by the Ministry, or Britain in general for that matter. But she is my wife.” Draco wondered if it was a coincidence that his case was primarily being handled by a possible lesbian, but didn’t think on it for too long. He did wonder, though, how she’d managed to get hired in the first place. It was common knowledge that employers were able to discriminate against potential employees due to sexual orientation. Perhaps she’d kept it a secret somehow during the hiring process.

“Listen, I know I’m in no place to be asking favors, but━”

“I would disagree entirely,” Grant interrupted. “Because you’ve been detained with little to no evidence supporting the charges against you, and have proven yourself more than innocent, you could cause several people to lose their jobs here if you were to press charges. Myself included.” Draco saw the slight fear in her eyes and the tightness of her mouth. 

“I don’t want to press charges, I’ve already told you. I was just hoping that…” He wasn’t sure how to phrase what he was trying to say, but pressed on anyway. “As you know by now, the media has a very bad opinion of me. I’m not asking you to clear my name completely; I know I’ve made mistakes and I know that I haven’t led the most proper life by wizarding standards. It would be nice if you could give an official report on my pensieve evidence, without giving away too much detail.” Grant seemed to consider his favor for a short time.

“I think that’s something I could do. As you said, I won’t be ‘clearing your name,’ as you put it, but I can put a good word in for you.”

“Thank you,” Draco said on a sigh. “Oh, and if you could please not━”

“There are other reporters than Skeeter, Mister Malfoy. You don’t need to worry there. Believe me when I say that you’re not the only one who’s suffered at her hand because of your sexual preferences.” Draco had already thanked her once, and though she seemed to know a bit of what he was going through he didn’t feel inclined to do so twice in one sitting. He may have changed, but he didn’t dish out gratitude for no reason. As happy as he was to be getting released, they’d still detained him in the first place and then practically starved him while he was there. 

“How long was I here, by the way?” he asked out of curiosity. He’d only been given two meals.

“You’ve been here for seventy six hours.” Three days and two meals. Why wasn’t he hungrier than he should be? It would be Monday, then. Harry would be at work. Draco told himself that it would be okay. This would give him time to readjust to being back at the house. 

Grant filled out his release forms and walked him to the service desk, where a bald chubby man sat eating a sandwich. Draco became hungry, as disgusting as it was to watch the man eat with his mouth open. 

“He’s good to go, Edgar,” Grant said, handing the man a copy of Draco’s release form. 

“Right, I’ll have that sent up to Filing. Good day to you both.” Draco didn’t say anything, as the man hadn’t even had the common courtesy to look away from his sandwich long enough to see who was standing in front of him. He and Grant walked several meters from the service desk and she patted his shoulder once.

“Well, you’re free to go. If you’d like I can escort you to the Floo room or you can simply Apparate back to your house from outside the building.” Draco looked out through the exit doors and saw that the way was clear of many people and decided to take that rout. The sooner he could be gone from this place the better. 

“I’ll just go out the exit,” he told her. 

“Alright,” Grand said, taking a step back. “Oh, and make sure you keep an eye on the paper these next few days. I recommend the _Quibbler_. Just skip past all the junk about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks or whatever else they’ve got in there.” 

“Will do.” And with that he turned away and left, Apparating home as soon as he felt the magical wards against Apparition fall away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, to those who are still reading. To our still-there-and-following readers, as well as those who left kudos/bookmarked us, thank you so much. We appreciate the motivation that you offer us through any form of feedback. (But particularly commenters. Let’s not sugarcoat things; you who comment are certainly the most motivating of all.) A special thank you goes out to Cheshire_Tomlinson, who left a very long and heart-swelling comment. You're great!
> 
> An apology is due, it seems, for our lack of steady or frequent publishing. We really do have rather a lot of story left to publish (we’re working on the epilogue now,) but real life does get in the way of editing and updates, sadly. The updating process will go a lot faster once we’ve finished writing completely, which is a lot closer to happening now than it was a month or so ago. Bear with us and we promise you this story will get completed soon.


	13. For All Intents And Purposes

“Come on in, Harry,” Shacklebolt said from beyond the wooden French doors. Harry went in, bracing himself for the conversation that was about to be had. “Good to see you. How are you liking life as an Auror so far?” Shacklebolt gestured for Harry to take one of the seats across from him at his desk.

“It’s not too shabby. Today was my first real day of training. Before it was mostly paperwork, false claims of seeing loose Death Eaters that never came to fruition. We’re starting training with Stealth and Tracking.” Harry wasn’t being entirely honest; he’d come into work that day in a rather cheerful mood until he’d found out his who his trainer was. John Dawlish, the same John Dawlish who’d come leading a party of Aurors to arrest Draco, was now teaching him how to track enemies and dodge their attacks. That didn’t much make for a pleasant workday, but Harry wasn’t about to complain to the Minister about it before it became a big deal. He could handle it. He’d handled worse and survived. 

“Ah, yes. I think you’ll do quite well with that, if your little forest expedition is any indication.” Harry wasn’t sure he’d call that an expedition, being hunted by Snatchers, and pretty much everyone else, while barely eating and searching a dead-end trail for Horcruxes. He didn’t know what he’d call it, but ‘expedition’ wasn’t the first word that came to mind.

“Thanks, sir,” Harry said instead of pointing that out.

“I think we’re beyond the point of ‘sir’s and general formalities. Kingsley.” Harry nodded. “You seem tense. What is it you came to discuss with me? Surely not something as mundane as paper filing and training.”

“No. It’s more serious than that,” Harry said with a slight, uncomfortable smirk. “I came to talk to you about the Auror Department and the fact that I feel there may still be some lingering corruption.” Kingsley’s eyebrows rose in surprise. Harry had a feeling that this wasn’t what he expected him to say.

“Why do you feel that way? Does this have anything to do with the recent Malfoy case?”

“A lot, yeah, but not completely. You’re aware of the fact that a lot of the Aurors who worked here during Voldemort’s reign don’t anymore.” It wasn’t a question, but he waited for Kingsley’s response.

“I am.”

“Then you’re probably also aware that some of them do still work for you.” 

“Yes.” Kingsley’s replies were stiff and measured. This was clearly a difficult topic for him.

“I’m not questioning your leadership skills by any means, but I think it would be worth looking into. Do you remember how Draco looked when he showed up for his last hearing?” Harry thought that anyone who was at the hearing and didn’t would’ve had to have been Obliviated in order to not remember. 

“I remember.”

“I can’t say for sure, but there were probably other Death Eaters who went on trial who looked to be in similar conditions. Am I wrong to guess that?”

“You are not.”

“Don’t you feel that it’s kind of… wrong? That anyone who goes to Azkaban and comes out looking like that is being mistreated?” Kingsley sighed, and closed his eyes momentarily before responding.

“Harry, you have to keep in mind that these are Death Eaters we’re talking about. They’re not your average, run-of-the-mill criminals. Some of them have killed entire families, and those that weren’t killed were permanently damaged to the point where the life they do live isn’t one worth living. Does the name Longbottom ring a bell?” Shacklebolt didn’t sound upset, didn’t sound admonishing or condescending, as Fudge had been towards Harry, but he was missing the point.

“I understand that, but we’re not them. We’re not supposed to act like they would, we’re supposed to set an example. If we’re beating and breaking these people, regardless of what they’ve done, they’re less likely to learn a lesson. Hatred breeds hatred. There’s no cure for whatever mental disease you have to have in order to act like a Death Eater, but if there was, it wouldn’t be physical abuse. I thought that was why you banished the use of Dementors as guards. I remember you saying they were inhumane. How is beating someone within an inch of their life any less so?” Harry was surprising himself with his words. He hadn’t prepared a speech of any sort before coming in here, nor had he really had a plan for how he would express his feelings. If Harry was reading him properly, Kingsley was just as surprised as he was. As Kingsley mulled over Harry’s words a silence grew in the room. Finally the Minister seemed to formulate a response, however, but it wasn’t what Harry thought he’d say.

“You’re right.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re right,” Kingsley repeated simply. “It’s not humane and it does need to be investigated. I’m thankful that you brought this to my attention. I’ve been trying not to repeat the mistakes of Ministers before me, and when you get to a position like this people tend to give their advice in extremes. The fact that prisoners have been mistreated hasn’t been pointed out to me so far, and I have a feeling that if anyone else had done so it would’ve become a very heated discussion.” Kingsley steepled his index fingers and tapped them to his lips thoughtfully. “You’ve got quite a way with words, Harry.”

“Thank you.” He’d never thought so, himself. People even made jokes towards him about his lack of skill formulating a proper sentence. 

“Have you ever considered a career in politics?” Harry chuckled at that question.

“No, not once in my life. It’s too complex for me, and I already feel as though I’m put in the spotlight far too often.”

“Hmm, well that would only amplify if you did take that career path. Can’t say I blame you for not wanting that. It’s not always pleasant, as I’m sure you know by now. If you ever change your mind, know that you’d have my full support.”

“I know too well how bad it can be. Thank you, though. I’ll think about it.” Harry wasn’t planning on thinking about it, but it’d be rude to say so.

“Back to the topic at hand. Was there anything else you wanted to ask me about?”

“Yes, actually. I wanted to explain my situation with Draco better. He’s been detained here under ridiculous grounds, rumours that were spread by a newspaper that’s known for stretching the truth until it breaks, and nobody seems to want to get his perspective on things. They all just jump to conclusions about him because he’s the son of Lucius Malfoy, or because he was a Death Eater, but nobody knows that he was forced to get that bloody tattoo because of the fact that his father failed a task set before him by Voldemort. It was a punishment, not something he chose.”

“Harry, you can calm down. I know all of this thanks to the Pensieve evidence he gave the Department of Magical Law Enforcement this morning.”

“Wait… he gave Pensieve evidence?”

“Yes, and he was released because he was able to satisfactorily prove his innocence in more ways than one. I’m surprised nobody told you. Then again, it was kept pretty quiet due to the nature of the investigation request.”

“You’re telling me he was released… earlier _today?_ ” Kingsley nodded. “He’s not here right now?” Kingsley shook his head. “I’ve got to go,” Harry said quickly as he rose from the chair. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Don’t forget to punch out,” the Minister called after him. Harry rushed back to the Auror Department, punched his time card, and then sprinted to the Floo room, accidentally burning the hems of his trousers in his hurry to get home. 

 

<>

 

The first thing Draco did when he got home was shower. He hadn’t had one since the morning he’d been arrested and was ripe enough that he could smell himself. It was no wonder that Auror hadn’t wanted to be near him, though Draco was pretty sure that his body odour wasn’t the reason behind that. 

His shower lasted over an hour, long enough that the water began to run cold before he got out. As he toweled off he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. Three days without real sustenance and he already looked like he’d lost weight. He walked the short distance from the bathroom to his bedroom and rummaged through his dresser until he found the red shirt Harry had made him get. At the time he’d told himself he’d never wear it, but he missed Harry and just wanted to be comfortable. He’d slept in his robes for two nights, and under those he’d been wearing suit trousers and a button down, which hadn’t done much to aid in his sleep. Draco pulled the soft t-shirt over his head and let it drape around him, then pulled on a pair of cotton pyjama trousers. As much as he was sure he looked like a homeless person he couldn’t bring himself to care. Even if Harry did come home to find him in such casual clothing, he was sure that the surprise of him being home in the first place would override his amusement. At least he hoped as much. 

Stomach growling, he made his way to the kitchen where Kreacher was already cooking something up on the stove, using a small wooden stool to see above the burners. 

“Master Draco,” Kreacher greeted him without turning around. “Kreacher welcomes you home.” Draco felt the corner of his lips rising in a half smile at the word ‘home,’ which he’d only recently begun to describe this place as. 

“Thanks, Kreacher.” Then he realised he was speaking to a house elf, which was not Malfoy behaviour. But he wasn’t much of a Malfoy anymore, was he? At least not on paper. Not legally. Not in his mother’s opinion. “So how has your day been?” The metal spoon Kreacher had been holding clattered on the counter and he jumped a bit at Draco’s question.

“Master… It is Kreacher who should be asking you how your days go.” Draco nodded in agreement. 

“That may be true, but there are no rules against me doing the same for you.” _Not anymore,_ he thought to himself. _Since I’m not longer a Malfoy, I think there are many rules that no longer apply to me._ If Kreacher had any eyebrows they would’ve joined the patches of grey hair sprouting in odd places from his scalp. 

“But a proper pureblood such as Master Draco should not lower himself in this way. Kreacher serves Master, not the other way around.” As if to prove his point, the elf then asked, “How was Master’s day?” Draco chuckled a bit at the humour the scene held. He was tempted to point out to the little rickety elf that asking Draco how his day was constituted as having a conversation, which he’d just said was below his blood status, but thought better of it. 

“Fine, now that I’m not holed up in a jail cell.” 

“Kreacher was not happy at all when the men came to take Master. Not at all. Kreacher wanted to save Master, but the Ministry is a place that house elves cannot go.” Draco wasn’t aware that house elves weren’t allowed in the Ministry, or that there was a force of magic that could keep them out of any place.

“That’s interesting, Kreacher. Why aren’t your kind allowed in the Ministry? Is there some sort of ward that keeps you out?” Kreacher’s eyes narrowed, and Draco thought that he probably realised the trap he’d accidentally put himself in by talking with Draco. Promptly the elf turned his back to him and resumed cooking whatever meal he’d been working on. It didn’t make much sense to Draco why this house elf was so stubborn about things as trivial as having a discussion with a wizard, but he thought it unwise to bring the topic up when Kreacher had realised that he’d broken his own rule. 

About twenty or so minutes later Kreacher set a bowl of chicken tikka masala in front of Draco. The steam that rolled off of it smelled heavenly and Draco didn’t even wait for it to cool off before shoving a large bite of it in his mouth. Whatever slop they’d served him at the Ministry had barely been palatable, and he hadn’t eaten most of that rubbish. This was much tastier, and having eaten so little and so poorly the last three days, Draco scarfed it all down within minutes and a second serving was plopped into his bowl soon after. 

By the time he was finished eating, his exhaustion set in. Sleeping in uncomfortable clothes and being away from his own bed had deprived him of two good sleeps, and he was due to make up for it. After he thanked Kreacher for the delicious meal and got no response, Draco went up to his bedroom and was about to feed Cosmos when he saw that there was already half a bowl of treats and two live mice in his cage. Draco made another mental note to thank Harry for taking care of Cosmos while he was away, then pulled the covers back on his bed and climbed in.

When he woke again there were arms around him, squeezing tightly. Startled, he jumped a bit in his bed, but relaxed when he smelled Harry’s familiar scent. He was leaning over Draco’s bed, face buried in the crook of Draco’s neck, just holding him.

“How long have you been here?” Draco asked, still sounding groggy. He hadn’t fully woken yet, but the process was quickened by Harry’s presence.

“I just got home from work,” Harry said into Draco’s hair. “I’m so glad you’re back.” Draco wrapped his arms around Harry as well and tugged him closer without actually pulling him onto the bed. 

“Me too.” Harry got himself loose from Draco’s grasp and sat on the edge of the bed near Draco’s knees. 

“You’re probably really tired still, though, so I won’t keep you up. I just wanted to see you for a moment and make sure you were okay.”

“Really, really exhausted,” Draco admitted. Though he would’ve loved to get up and visit with Harry until the wee hours of the morning, he had a feeling it would only add to his ruined sleep schedule. 

“‘M happy you woke me up, though. I missed you.” He sounded soft even to his own ears, but he was too tired to care.

“I missed you, too.” Harry paused and stared at Draco, and the latter couldn’t tell what his expression meant, as it was a mixture of several emotions that were difficult to discern. “Well, I should probably let you get back to sleeping, shouldn’t I?” He stood up from the bed and began walking away, but then turned around and came back to the bedside. Quickly, almost so fast that Draco was unsure of whether or not it even happened, Harry bent down and planted a chaste kiss on Draco’s cheek. Then he left the room and Draco fell back asleep shortly after.

Several hours later the smell of herbs and spices intruded on Draco’s dreams of memory pools and lost time. He sat up in bed and looked around, easily finding the source of the smell. Breakfast sat on a tray nearby steaming still, though it had probably sat there for longer than it would take a normal breakfast to cool. His stomach instantly clenched at the scent and, before he had even thought about it, he was shoveling the potato hash and sausage links into his mouth. He’d barely finished half of the dish when there was a knock at his door.

“Come in,” he said around a mouthful of potatoes. His manners were normally much better than this, but he was too hungry to care. The door creaked open and Harry popped his messy haired head into the room, a smile on his lips. 

“Morning. How’d you sleep?” Harry asked as he came more fully into the room. 

“Fine, thanks. You?” Draco paused stuffing his face in order to respond, then continued to shovel food into his mouth as Harry came to sit on the edge of his bed. 

“I slept alright. Listen, last night I didn’t want to bring this up, but I can’t put it off anymore.” Draco paused from eating his nearly finished food to look up at Harry in confusion.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, no. Nothing’s wrong, just… Did they treat you badly at all? How did they feed you? Did they hurt you? What sort of room were you kept in?”

“Harry, one question at a time, I just woke up,” Draco said crankily. He didn’t mean to be sharp, but being spoken to when you’ve just woken up is never pleasant, even if you’ve just gotten out of jail and the person talking to you is Harry Potter. “What was the first one?” 

“Did they treat you badly?” 

“That depends on what your standards are. By my standards, absolutely, but it was much more comfortable than my cell in Azkaban, I can tell you that much.” Harry tensed and his lips pinched together.

“Well how much were you fed?”

“Twice.” Harry’s face didn’t change, but his eyes were smoldering behind his spectacles. “It’s not so bad; again, it’s more than I was given in Azkaban. I had a warm bed, privacy, no cold water flooding my cell every time the ocean had a bone to pick with me. It wasn’t as bad as you’re thinking.”

“Did they hurt you?” Harry did not sound appeased. He sounded calm, but that was almost more alarming than if he were to be having an outburst. Draco wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to tell Harry about the slap to his face that morning by that specific Auror now that he could tell it would greatly upset him; however, Draco had taken too long to respond, and Harry asked again, “Did they hurt you, Draco?”

“One Auror slapped me awake the last morning I was there.” He felt like a tattle tale for saying it, but then again he had told himself to ask Harry about that Auror. 

“Did you happen to catch his name?” There was an edge to Harry’s voice, barely detectable, but definitely there.

“No. Grant was really nice, though. Kind of short at first, but she was more pleasant than that other one.” He hoped that mentioning another official who had been kinder to him would take Harry’s mind off of the Auror who had been violent towards him. 

“What did he look like?” Apparently Harry wasn’t willing to drop the matter.

“What are you going to do if I tell you?”

“I’m going to have another meeting with Kingsley,” Harry said simply. There was still a tightness to his voice.

“Another meeting? Did you have one with him today?” Harry nodded. “What was that about? Please tell me it wasn’t about me.”

“In a way, yeah. Mostly I was addressing the lingering corruption in the Auror Department. It’s obvious to me that it’s not completely taken care of, and the most blatant sign of that was how you looked at your hearing. This isn’t just about you, though. Imagine how other people who have done worse things than you are being treated by people who are supposed to be setting an example. You were slapped. Even that’s not okay, but just think what other, worse criminals are being put through.” 

“Harry, these are criminals, though.”

“You know, Kingsley said the same thing. It doesn’t matter. No human should be put through the things that the Aurors have been putting them through. It’s not right.” Draco chuckled. Harry was always the hero, regardless of the situation. “What's so funny?”

“Nothing, it's just that you're always saving someone. It's like you've got some complex about it.” Harry didn't seem to think it was funny at all. 

“I don't have a hero complex, I just know the difference between right and wrong.” Draco didn’t really know what to say to that. Harry was probably right, anyway, and it was probably just Draco’s old fashioned views that were causing him to disagree. That was a habit he intended to kick, so there was no point making fun of serious matters. 

“Regardless of right and wrong, I’m alright. I’m home now and the Ministry will be slow to jump on me from here on out.”

“I still plan on talking to Kingsley about that Auror. What did he look like?” Draco sighed. Harry was not going to drop it until he at least gave him this. “And did you happen to figure out who filed the request? I meant to ask Kingsley, but I forgot to.”

“Tall, bit of scruff on his face, not very large, dark hair, rude demeanor. And yeah, Grant told me it was a man named Dawlish. Wasn’t that the one who arrested me?”

“Yeah… yeah he was. He’s also my new trainer. Not exactly excited about that. Anyway, that could be any number of my co workers, you’ll have to give me more detail than that.”

“Okay, he kind of looked as though he hated his life. Oh!” Draco had just remembered the name that Grant had used as they were heading to her office. “Randall? I think that was his name. I can’t be sure, though, because I didn’t look to see who Grant was yelling at.”

“I know exactly who that is. Real arsehole. He’s supposed to train us when we get to Concealment. Not very excited about that, but who knows. Maybe he’ll be put in his place after I talk with the Minister.”

“I don’t feel like it’s necessary, but obviously I can’t stop you.” Harry chuckled, and it made Draco feel lighter. Their conversation had gotten tense, and he had hoped he could turn it around, though he wasn’t sure why what he’d just said had done that.

“Do you realise how strange that sounds coming from you?” Harry asked.

“Why?”

“Think about it. You got slapped across the face and you don’t want revenge? That’s just weird.” Now that Draco thought about it, it did seem strange. Perhaps his time in Azkaban had broken him. 

“It’s not that weird,” he said in his own defence. “I just don’t feel like starting anything that could go badly for us.” 

“It is weird, but I appreciate that. By the way, I got a letter from the _Prophet_ accepting my proposal for an interview. That’s why I’m not at work right now. They’ve requested it as soon as possible, so I thought I could use that as an excuse to get out of work and spend a bit of time with you before we do the interview.” Harry paused, looking unsure of himself. “You _do_ still want to go, right?” Draco looked down at the remnants of food on his plate and thought of what he’d like to do. 

“Well, I’ve asked Grant to put a good word out there for me in the _Quibbler,_ but how many people really read that?”

“More than you’d think, actually. I get their papers every time they print. I just skip over the nonexistent creature stuff.”

“Grant suggested the same thing. It’s good that you have a subscription to them; I’ll be able to make sure she keeps her promise.”

“Right. So are you going to go with me, or not? I can understand if you don’t want to. You have been in the spotlight a bit much lately.”

“I have, but it would be nice if it were positive for once. I’ll go with you, Harry. I already said I would, and a man’s only as good as his word.” Harry’s lips curved upward again. “You still owe me that back rub, by the way.”

“Of course you wouldn’t forget that,” Harry said while rolling his eyes. He stood up, then, and vanished the plate of food from the room. “Alright, well you should start getting ready. The interview’s in an hour, so I’ll leave you to get dressed. I like your shirt, by the way.” Draco looked down, having forgotten what he’d worn to bed, and when he saw the bright red shirt his cheeks heated.

“It’s just soft,” Draco said, yet again feeling the need to defend himself. “It’s not as comfortable as normal wizard clothes, but I was too lazy to find a different shirt.” Harry chuckled at Draco’s bad attempt to cover for his actions.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, I already know that’s your most favourite shirt in the world,” he teased.

“It’s not,” Draco said firmly. Harry held up his hands in mock forfeit and left the room. As soon as the door clicked shut Draco’s face broke out in a toothy grin and he tried to shake the excitement in his nerves. 

He removed his sleep clothes and went through his dresser, unsure of what to wear, when he came across one of the muggle jumpers he’d bought. It was getting chillier, and the cashmere would feel really good against his skin. Barely hesitating, he pulled on the cream coloured garment and found a black pair of trousers to go with it. Maybe it wasn’t as prim and proper as his parents would’ve demanded he dress for reporters, but it was what he felt like wearing, and their demands could burn in Fiendfyre for all he cared. Fed and dressed, Draco applied the smallest bit of cologne, smoothed his hair with a comb and setting charm, and went to the drawing room to wait for Harry to meet him. 

Catching sight of the piano in the corner, Draco sighed. It wasn’t his cello, but it would maybe ease the need he felt to play his old one. Maybe he would get a job in the future, once society had accepted him again, and he’d buy a new one. _That could take years, though,_ he thought sadly. He didn’t want to wait years to play cello again. The thought of asking Grant to inquire about his cello crossed his mind, but he remembered painfully that it didn’t really belong to him anymore, since he’d been disowned. His mother knew how much he loved his cello and he doubted she would allow him to have it back. 

He sat at the piano bench and uncovered the keys, then opened up the beginners piano book that still sat on the music rack. As he began to play, he felt as though he was really beginning to get the hang of it, but he had a feeling this was only because of his prior musical knowledge. It still sounded like he didn’t quite know how to play, but he was getting there. He’d almost finished playing one song through when he felt two hands land softly on his shoulders. Without a word, Harry he assumed, began massaging his shoulders and neck, causing a small moan of appreciation to escape his lips. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a massage and with all the tension that had built up over the last couple of years it felt divine, even with Harry’s clumsy movements. 

 

<>

 

“Is that alright?” Harry asked, his voice quiet and hesitant. 

“Mhm, yes,” Draco sighed absently. Moving his hands downward a bit, Harry worked into Draco’s back straps. He relaxed his neck, allowing his head to lull forward a bit, until Harry found a particularly mean knot residing near the bottom of his rib cage in his back strap. Draco hissed with the pain and Harry eased the amount of pressure he felt Draco relax under his hands again. 

“That’s a huge knot,” Harry told him, as if Draco couldn’t feel the large mound of stress that had accumulated in his back. “Is this wool? It feels a lot softer than anything Molly’s knitted me.”

“Cashmere, actually,” Draco corrected. His voice sounded milky to Harry, more thick than usual.

“It looks new,” Harry commented. He thought he saw several jumpers similar to this on display at one of the clothing shops they’d visited the other day, but he couldn’t be sure. “When did you get it?” He felt Draco tense again, but he hadn’t begun using more pressure on his back. 

“I… actually, I got it at that shop.” He’d had a feeling that was the case. A knowing smile played at his mouth.

“So you’re not completely against muggle clothing, then, are you?” Draco didn’t answer, and Harry moved his hands back up to his shoulders, rubbing his thumbs along the muscles beside Draco’s shoulder blades. 

There was so much tension in Draco’s back, and if he didn’t know how painful it was, having his own back issues, he could almost have been sucked in to the intimacy of the situation. He’d never touched Draco so much in one sitting before, and it felt really casual compared to how it might’ve felt a month before. As he rubbed Draco’s back ideas for their first date redo popped up into his head, and he thought that later that evening he’d like to take Draco out somewhere. 

“What’s your favorite type of food?” he asked, trying to get a better idea of where to go.

“Chinese.” That was very surprising. 

“They allow you to eat Chinese food in wizarding society?” Draco scoffed at Harry’s question.

“There are wizards in China, too, you know. And yes, it was actually pretty common in our household. Mum loves Chinese food, so she taught the house elves to cook it, and even exchanged a few house elves from someone in China to make it more authentic, as she put it.”

“Your family is really strange.” Not that his wasn’t.

“That’s true.” Harry brought his hands higher up, to Draco’s scalp, and began gently scratching there. “Stop! You’ll mess up my━ oh…” He trailed off, and Harry was pretty sure he’d found a sweet spot near the nape of Draco’s neck. He smiled again, satisfied at having found the ability to steal the words right from Draco’s mouth and make him not care about his hair. Normally Draco was very anal about how his hair was placed, and the only time Harry had ever really seen it out of its usual pristine arrangement was when he’d found out his mother had disowned him. That, and during the war, but everyone was looking tattered and out of sorts then, to say the least.

Several more minutes went by of Harry scratching Draco’s scalp before his fingers began to get sore. He did his best to rearrange Draco’s hair into a more organized state, and let his hands fall to his side. Then, without really thinking about it too much, he placed a kiss at the curve of Draco’s neck. Draco turned on the bench to face him with hooded eyes and Harry couldn’t stop himself from kissing his lips, too. It wasn’t a long kiss, just enough to get the point across that Harry was glad he was back, but all he’d needed or wanted to say was there in that kiss. 

Harry stood up straight and smoothed the nonexistent wrinkles in his button down shirt. He was wearing the outfit that Draco had picked out. Originally he wasn’t going to dress up for the interview, but he knew how everyone liked to say he looked disheveled all the time, and had even taken some Sleek Eazy’s hair potion and tamed his hair into a subtle pompadour style. 

“You look very nice, Harry,” Draco told him, his voice appreciative. “I’m surprised I didn’t have to con you into wearing that outfit.”

“I decided it wouldn’t hurt to dress up a bit.”

“That’s the opposite of what I was going for.” Draco stood and adjusted the collar on Harry’s shirt a bit. “So when should we head out?” Harry checked his watch before responding. 

“Soon, probably. I’d like to be a bit early, in case other reporters have found out about the interview. They’re likely to hoard around the Floo fireplaces at the ministry.” Draco nodded and together they went down to the basement to use the Floo. 

When they arrived at the Ministry there were a few reporters there, but nothing they couldn’t shake off easily. Skeeter was nowhere to be seen, but Harry had doubted she would be present, since he was giving an interview with the same paper she wrote for. They went through the Ministry and up to the floor where all the meeting rooms were and Harry began searching for room 26. Not five minutes later they stood outside of the room, waiting patiently.

“Do you think they’ll really show up?” Draco asked nervously. 

“I do. There’s no way they’d miss up an opportunity to interview me, as stupid as that is. I’m not as interesting as people might think.” 

“Sure, easy for you to say. You’re only the boy who defeated the most infamous Dark wizard known to magical kind. Not very interesting at all.” Harry frowned a bit at Draco’s sarcasm, but didn’t say anything. Thankfully he didn’t have to because at that moment the meeting room opened and a tall, slender man stepped out.

“Harry Potter! So good to see you, I’m very glad you’ve asked for an interview,” the man said. “We’ve been hoping to get one from you, but we weren’t sure you’d like to do one.”

“So long as Skeeter isn’t asking the questions I don’t mind,” Harry said. “Who are you, by the way?” He was going against Brit standards by asking that, but he didn’t really care if he made the man uncomfortable. Harry wanted to make it clear that he wasn’t going to mince words or be pushed around.

“How rude of me,” the man said, obviously uncomfortable. “My name is Timothy Agrüs, but you can call me Tim.” Tim looked back and forth between Harry and Draco. “Er, pardon me, but I wasn’t informed that Draco Malfoy would be attending the interview along with you.”

“I must’ve forgotten to mention that,” Harry said with a stiff smile. “You won’t mind if he sits in, will you?”

“N-no, not at all!” Tim did mind, Harry could tell, but he wasn’t going to say anything about it. “Come right in, we’ve only got so much time. An hour should do it, don’t you think?” Tim opened the door and ushered Draco and Harry in. The first thing Harry noticed about the room was that it wasn’t devoid of people. There was only one other person there, and it was Rita Skeeter. Harry had to fight the urge to take his wand from his trouser pocket and hex her.

“Excuse me, Tim, but what is she doing here?” Harry asked as calmly as he could manage. “I thought I explicitly said that I wouldn’t do an interview if she was going to be a part of it.”

“Actually, you said so long as she wasn’t doing the interviewing. I’ll be asking the questions, but she requested the ability to supervise, just in case things got out of hand.” Harry’s jaw clenched and he hoped it wasn’t perceptible.

“I’m not sure why things would get out of hand, but I refuse to do an interview with her in the room. If that’s not something you can make happen then we’ll just be leaving.” Harry waited for a moment while Tim debated with himself internally. When Tim didn’t say anything, Harry turned towards the door. “Alright, Draco, looks like this meeting is over. Let’s go.”

“Wait!” Tim called out to them. They’d just made it back to the hallway. “I can make her leave, I think. Please, this would be huge for my career.”

“My life isn’t a game you get to play,” Harry said quietly, but fiercely. “I’m not some staircase to greater things, I am a human being. That woman has written nothing but drivel about me and Draco, and I will not allow her to do it again.” Tim seemed taken aback by Harry’s words, but simply swallowed loudly and nodded in agreement. 

“She’ll go.” 

The three of them went back into the meeting room and Harry saw that Skeeter had moved to stand nearer to the door, probably to get a good listen in case Harry got ‘out of hand.’ Tim walked over to her and said something in her ear that Harry didn’t quite catch. Then he recalled the fact that she was an animagus and that in her beetle form she could easily listen in to the interview without being noticed. 

“Listen, Skeeter,” Harry said, keeping his tone neutral. “I know you’re an unregistered animagus, and I know that you take the form of a beetle. If I have to I will turn this room upside down to make sure that you’re not crawling around listening somewhere.” Skeeter’s mouth dropped open.

“W-who told you such nonsense? That’s simply ridiculous! As if I, an upstanding journalist, would break the law in such a manner!” Skeeter began giggling in a high pitch, glancing at Tim to check if he was buying Harry’s accusation. Harry thought that maybe Tim wasn’t aware of her being an animagus, but Harry wasn’t concerned with keeping her secret safe. 

“Don’t you think it would be better that this ‘nonsense’ stayed in this room, rather than in another paper?” Harry asked innocently. “It would be a shame if the Minister decided to check and see, wouldn’t it?” Skeeter narrowed her eyes and her lips formed a tight fuschia line. She gave an equally contemptuous look to Draco, but then left the room with no further threats being issued. 

“Wow, Harry,” Draco said, sounding impressed. “Didn’t know you had it in you to be as cunning as us Slytherins.” Harry smirked in response to Draco’s comment. 

“Now that she’s taken care of…” Harry trailed off, then turned to shut and lock the door. Taking his wand from his pocket, he cast a silencing charm over the entirety of the room and several wards on the door and windows. Skeeter wouldn’t be crossing that barrier unless she wanted to be incinerated on the spot. 

“Yes. Down to business, I suppose.” Tim sounded more nervous than ever, but Harry didn’t mind. It would hopefully go in their favour if Tim was scared to write anything less than accurate about them. 

Draco followed Harry as he led the way to the table, taking seats beside each other. Tim sat several chairs away on Harry’s side of the table. The shaking reporter took a corked inkpot, quill, and roll of parchment from his robes and set them out on the table in preparation. When he’d finished getting the parchment to stay unrolled, he looked up at Harry with a scared smile. 

“Is it alright if I start asking questions now?” Harry almost laughed at how timid the reporter was being, but held himself back. 

“That’s your job, isn’t it?” he asked instead.

“Quite right, quite right.” Tim cleared his throat. “Okay, so first question. Why did you want Mister Malfoy to attend this meeting?” Harry considered answering the question himself, but thought it would be better if Draco did instead. He looked to Draco, using his eyes to signal that it was his question to answer. 

“Harry thought that it would be beneficial for me and might ease the anxiety going around wizard society if I cleared a few things up.” Draco paused to allow Tim to write his words down in note form. “The last several articles that your paper has published involving me have been far from the truth.” Tim nodded, looking somewhat contrite. 

 

“What did you wish to clear up? I’d be glad to give you a chance to do that now.” Harry couldn’t tell if Tim was saying this because he genuinely meant it, or because he was terrified of being in the same room as an ex-Death Eater as well as a threatening Harry Potter. 

Draco looked to Harry and it was then that Harry could see just how uncomfortable he’d been this whole time. Maybe Draco wasn’t ready for this. Maybe Harry was pressuring him into something he didn’t want to do. It was too late now, though. Harry offered his hand to Draco, not caring what the reporter made of it, and squeezed in what he hoped was a reassuring way. 

“I’m not…” Draco looked down at his and Harry’s hands. “I’m not sure now that I’m here. There was so much I was planning on saying, but I realise now that there’s no point. No matter what I say people are always going to believe whatever they want to about me.” Harry was shocked to hear these words coming from Draco. Something was different about him since he’d returned from the Ministry. He wasn’t as snappish, he wasn’t as rude or sarcastic. Harry didn’t know what to make out of the change. 

“So you’ve been brought along in the hopes to express this to society? That you’re not sure?” Tim’s question didn’t make a whole lot of sense to Harry, but Draco seemed to understand.

“No. I suppose that the main thing I’d like to let everyone know is that I’m not dangerous. I’m not out to get Harry. We may have been rivals in school, but that was more my doing than his and it all stemmed from jealousy. I even gave Pensieve evidence to the Ministry when they arrested me that proves what I’m saying.”

“What happened during your arrest, by the way? Why were you arrested in the first place?”

“It was a misunderstanding.” Draco didn’t show any signs of elaborating, so Tim nodded slowly. 

“Have you been cleared of all charges, then?”

“I have. My memories proved that I was not guilty of tampering with Harry in any way.” Tim scribbled on the parchment for a moment, then returned to his questioning.

“Then why is it that you two have become… What are you exactly?”

“Wizards,” Harry said with a smirk. 

“Well, yes, erm… Well, that much was clear. I only meant, er—”

“You were referring to the relationship status between myself and Draco, I’m assuming.” Harry cut across the interviewer. Tim nodded. It was quite hilarious how flustered he got. “I would like it to be known that it is none of anyone else’s damn business how I am associated with Draco Malfoy, and I want you to put it in the paper as exactly that, word for word.” Tim nodded again, and Harry allowed him to finish writing before continuing. “I will also have it known that I am not— and I am highly sure of this— under the influence of the Imperius curse. I’ve been under the curse before. I know what it feels like. I’ve also shown the ability to resist the curse, so you can all stop worrying, thanks. Nor do I believe that I am being influenced by a love potion. I mean—” Harry paused. He didn’t feel like explaining to Tim all of his feelings toward Draco in order to emphasize his point, especially not since he just told the public to butt out of his business. “I think it would be more obvious if I was.”

“If I were to inquire about Mister Malfoy’s arrest and interrogation, would his story be verified?”

“I could ask Grant to come and verify it if you’d like,” Draco said shortly. 

“And Grant is…?” Tim asked

“The Magical Law Enforcer who signed my release papers and witnessed my memories.” Draco didn’t wait for Tim to respond, but took his wand from his pocket. Tim flinched a bit and Harry tried not to laugh at him. “Could I borrow a piece of paper and your quill?” The uneasy reporter pulled a second roll of parchment from his pocket and rolled it across the table to Draco, then scooted the inkpot as well. Draco took the quill and unrolled the parchment, wrote a quick note, and folded the paper into an origami butterfly. Harry hadn’t known that Draco could do origami, but the butterfly did look very nice and he’d folded the paper with ease. Draco flicked his wand a couple times to enchant the paper into flying, then stood up and crossed the room to the door. Being careful not to touch the wards, Draco set the butterfly free and it flew off. “She should be here soon enough,” he said as he came back to the table and sat down next to Harry again. 

Tim seemed more at ease, as if Draco making a paper butterfly had made him appear less threatening. Harry supposed that if Voldemort had taken the time to fold origami he would appear less terrifying as well, and the mental image that brought nearly made him laugh aloud. 

“We’ll wait for Grant to show up and continue the interview then,” Harry told Tim. Draco slid the inkwell back to Tim, who didn’t seem nearly as nervous as he had. 

They all sat in silence while they waited for Grant. Harry hoped she would come, as she could be the deciding factor in how the world would see Draco after this interview. If she didn’t come there wasn’t much anyone could do about it, but she was the only person who had witnessed Draco’s memories besides Draco himself, and her account of them would be difficult to ignore.

 

<>

 

It took all of ten minutes for Grant to come knocking on the door. Draco watched as Harry removed the wards and called for Grant to come in, then put the wards back in place. Tim got up from his seat and went to greet Grant, offering his hand for shaking and getting no reciprocation. 

“Draco,” Grant said, closing the gap between them. “You asked for me?” 

“Yes, I was hoping you could confirm that my Pensieve evidence cleared all suspicion of the rumour that I gave Harry a love potion, or cursed him in any way to gain his attentions.” Grant nodded, but didn’t move to sit down.

Looking to Tim she said, “I am the officer who witnessed Draco’s memories and I can tell you with absolute certainty that Draco has not used any methods in gaining Potter’s attention other than being himself.” Grant paused and looked at Draco with what he thought might be a warm expression for her. “And I can also tell you that he is not the person everyone seems to think he is.” Tim wrote furiously on his parchment as Grant spoke.

“Is there anything else you’d like to add about Mister Malfoy while you’re here?” he asked as he finished his notes. 

“No. Draco can speak for himself, I’m sure. Is that all you needed?” she asked Draco. 

“That’s all. Thank you,” he said with a small grin. “Good afternoon, Grant.” 

“Good afternoon, Draco,” she said. Harry took the wards down again and allowed her to exit, then put them back up as soon as the door clicked shut. Draco was sure Skeeter could’ve made her way in on the two occasions that the wards had been down, but if she had any sense she would not interfere. 

“Does that help at all?” Draco asked smugly. He was trying not to be as uncivil as he felt like being, but when that skittish reporter had flinched as Draco had taken his wand from his pocket he had a difficult time not hating the man instantly. 

“It did,” Tim said as he made a small note on his parchment. As he looked back up at Draco, and then Harry, he asked, “Do you and Mister Potter plan to live together long term, or is this simply because of the Malfoy Manor being in Ministry possession?”

“I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying,” Draco said honestly. “I don’t even know how long the manor will be seized, or if I’ll be able to go back there once it’s not.” That was partially a lie; he knew for a fact that he wouldn’t be able to go back.

“Is the rumour true that your mother, Narcissa Malfoy, has disinherited you from the family fortune?” Draco almost didn’t answer the question, but he knew that word would get out eventually regardless of whether he said anything.

“It is true.”

“Would you care to explain her motivations for this?”

“It’s because of my sexual orientation and the way that things are developing between Harry and myself,” Draco explained in clipped words. “She doesn’t feel that, as a Malfoy, it’s appropriate to have views that stem away from the norm. Having a lifestyle that completely veers off the ‘normal’ path is even more unacceptable to her.” 

“And do you think that there is anything you could do to win back your mother’s favour?” Tim asked as he wrote.

“No.” Because, really, there wasn’t anything Draco could do, or would do. His mother had chosen her way of dealing with his choices and he had no interest in going back on the new life he was building if only for wealth and approval. 

“Would you mind elaborating?” The reporter glanced up at Draco.

“I would mind.” Tim nodded with tight lips.

“Why did Miss Magdalene Grant come to confirm your innocence? Was there some sort of deal struck between the two of you?”

“Suffice it to say that it was part of the misunderstanding I mentioned before.” He was not about to make a scene out of his arrest, not after he’d told Grant that he wouldn’t press charges. Talking about what happened wasn’t the same, obviously, but it would lead to much unwanted attention towards the Ministry, which could agitate DMLE. This was something Draco neither wanted, nor needed. 

“They arrested him on _false_ claims put into the public by your newspaper,” Harry said in a cutting way. Well, the cat was out of the bag. “Because of this false information Draco was forced to spend three days in almost solitary confinement, forced to undergo interrogation, and was slapped by one of the guards. It only takes adding two and two in order to understand what happened. Draco was innocent and there was no solid proof behind his arrest. If he chose to, he could wreak havoc on the Ministry employees who had anything to do with this, and Rita Skeeter, but he’s not the type of person who would do that.” Draco thought, when he took a moment to continue, Harry was finished. This was not the case. “That’s something your news paper can’t seem to grasp and I think it’s time that it ends. Are you writing any of this down?” Tim was staring at Harry with an open mouth, not writing at all.

“Oh! Yes, my apologies.” Tim inked his quill and set it to the parchment, writing small notes about what Harry had said. When he’d finished, he directed his next question to Harry. “You seem rather upset by all of this. Why is that?”

“Draco has become one of my only real friends in recent times. Believe it or not, I care about what happens to him and I care about the fact that he’s being bullied, along with myself, by full grown adults who should know better. He’s not some form of entertainment, he’s a person.” 

 

If he wasn’t in front of a reporter, Draco would kiss Harry. He’d called him one of his only real friends, and that meant more to Draco than he could express. Needless to say, Draco had felt incredibly lonely ever since the war. Being sent to Azkaban had distanced the people he’d thought were friends from him. The fact that his parents gave names of other Death Eaters had ensured that he had no friends. Harry had been somewhat of a silver lining to his grey cloud and his statement that they were friends reinforced that. 

“You two seem to have gotten very close, then,” Tim said. “Do you think that things will get easier for the two of you after this interview?”

“I certainly hope so,” Harry said with a dry laugh. “But then, people are so quick to believe bad things about others that it could also make things worse. I guess we’ll see.”

Looking at Draco, Tim asked, “What do you plan to do, now that you are no longer the Malfoy heir? How do you intend to support yourself?” 

“Well, everyone seems to not want me in their businesses, I highly doubt they’d want me working for them. I’d like to do something musically, but my hopes for that have been put on hold as well.” Tim looked surprised at Draco’s answer.

“And why is that?” he asked. 

“My cello is not in my possession any more and I can’t really afford to buy a new one at this time. With the prospects for jobs low and my funds dwindling, there’s not much I can do about it.”

“Is Mister Potter supporting you at this moment, then?”

“It’s a temporary situation, but yes,” Harry said. “He’ll get back on his feet in time.” Tim nodded and wrote several short notes on his half-full parchment. 

“Do you resent your mother, Mister Malfoy, for disowning you?” Draco wasn’t sure what to say to that. His mother would read this paper, surely, and if he spoke badly of her it would only make her more apt to make his and Harry’s lives worse. 

“Resent her? No, not exactly,” he said eventually. “I think that she’s made a rash decision based on emotion and archaic views, but I knew that something like this could happen eventually.”

“You did?” Tim asked as he wrote. “How did you know?”

“I’ve known about my sexuality for a while now, though I did my best to keep it hidden. With the way I was raised I knew that it wasn’t acceptable for me to have love interests that weren’t female, but I couldn’t seem to force myself to go along with that.”

“Are you suggesting that sexual attraction is not a choice?” The way he asked it didn’t sound as though he disagreed, but Draco still scoffed.

“I know that it isn’t. Believe me, if I could’ve chosen to be hetero I would’ve done so years ago. I lost my parents, my family’s approval, and any hope of being financially stable in the near future. I wouldn’t change anything now, but if I’d had the choice when I discovered that I liked blokes I would’ve chosen the easier path.”

“So you think it’s easier to be heterosexual?” His question held judgement and Draco tried his very best to stay calm. 

“Well… yeah. Isn’t it obvious? Nobody gets disowned for being physically attracted to the opposite sex. Nobody gets their lives ripped out from under them simply for being the way society thinks they should be. It’s become more socially acceptable to be a spinster than to marry for love, so long as that love is the same sex as you. Not to mention the laws restricting people like me.”

“In muggle society some places won’t even hire you if they’ve found out you’re not straight, or they’ll fire you,” Harry added. “I was raised by muggles and I can’t tell you how many times I heard my aunt and uncle bashing gays. That was pretty common, too, not just in our household.”

“That’s very interesting, and similar to our laws,” Tim said genuinely. His brows were furrowed, and he looked somewhat sheepish, as though he were feeling guilty for some reason. “Do you think that, should you two become a couple━ if you aren’t already━ that you’ll offer hope to those who are still struggling to come to terms with their own sexual preferences?”

“I’m not sure we’ll offer hope. Maybe if people can accept Draco and I then they’ll have an easier time accepting other people in our community who aren’t heterosexual,” Harry said thoughtfully. 

“And that’s a good start,” Draco added, “But it doesn’t fix the problem. Same-sex marriage is still illegal, even though there’s no reason for it. Enough magical people are born every year from pureblood and muggle families alike that same-sex marriage wouldn’t put a stop to the growth of our society. There’s no excuse.”

“Do you think it would benefit wizard society to accept same-sex relationships? How would we even go about doing that?”

“I think it would, and it would have to start in our own homes, in the way we teach our children to view people and things that are different,” Draco said. “It would be a huge step forward if same-sex marriage were legalized, but who can tell when or if that’ll ever happen?” 

Tim wrote for a while, then sat and thought for just as long. After what seemed like a full three minutes, he looked to Harry. “When did you discover that you were… having thoughts of men? There are reports of you having dated one Ginevra Weasley for quite some time. What happened there?” Draco could feel Harry tense beside him. This was a touchy subject for him and Draco thought that perhaps this was because he’d only recently discovered that he wasn’t straight. 

“It was a little less than a month ago,” he admitted. “There weren’t many signs that pointed to that, but then again during most of my childhood and adolescence I’ve had the threat of death or genocide hung over my head. Doesn’t leave much time for romance.” Harry paused and it looked like he was gathering his thoughts. “With Ginny everything started out so great. She was the promise of a normal life, she was one of the only people who didn’t fawn over me for being who I am, and she wasn’t like any other girl I’d met before. It wasn’t until after the war that I started to realise that I didn’t feel that way about her anymore. I started wondering if my feelings for her were based on truth or if they were based on what I thought I needed to do and what everyone expected.”

“And how did that play out?”

“I don’t really feel like it’s anyone’s business what happened between Ginny and I,” Harry said, sounding a bit tense. 

“That’s quite alright,” Tim said, jotting several things down. His parchment was nearly full now and Draco thought that the their hour must’ve been getting close. “I have one more question for you two before you go.” 

“What’s that?” Harry asked.

“Could I get a picture of the two of you, or would that be overstepping my boundaries?” Draco and Harry looked at each other, shrugged simultaneously, then nodded to Tim. “Excellent! Very good.” He pulled a camera from beneath the table and used a cloth from his pocket to clean the lense. Tim focused the lense on them and right after the light flashed, Harry reached over and took Draco’s hand. Draco smiled at the camera, but he could feel Harry smiling at him.

As they left the Ministry, having to wade through a crowd of reporters who had found out about their meeting, Draco thought about his mother’s reaction to the article that would be published by the next morning. He hoped that she would see how happy he was, how happy Harry made him, and that it would change her mind about him. He hoped, but he didn’t give that hope fuel.


	14. Misery's Musings

It was obvious by the look on Draco’s face that he was confused by their Apparition destination. Harry had kept in mind that Draco’s favourite type of food was Chinese and had brought them back to downtown London to find a restaurant that could cater to his tastes. The bravery, strength, and honesty that Draco had shown during the interview had astounded Harry and he felt it only right that they finish the evening off with a nice dinner. 

“Where are we going?” Draco asked as the two of them began walking. 

“You’ll see,” Harry replied, a smirk on his lips. 

They didn’t walk far before restaurants began popping up. Harry looked at the names of these restaurants and wondered if there would even be a Chinese restaurant to go to. There were several Italian restaurants, some American-style places, and even more classic British restaurants. They walked further and Harry saw a restaurant that seemed to served a mixture of all Asian cuisine and steered them towards the building. 

“We’re going out to eat?” Draco asked as Harry began tugging his hand. 

“You said you liked Chinese food. When was the last time you had it?” 

“It’s been a long time,” Draco said thoughtfully. “But I haven’t got any money with me. I can’t expect you to pay for me every time we go out.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry said with a wave of his hand. He pulled the door to the restaurant open and they were assaulted by the wonderful smells inside. “This is a date. A redo of our first one, so let me pay for you. It’s really no big deal.”

Draco said nothing and instead followed Harry to an empty booth. When the server came to take their orders Harry was lost. He asked the server to allow them to have a moment to order, but placed drink orders in the meantime. He hoped that sake tasted alright. 

Chinese food was something that had never been served in the Dursley’s home, partially due to their racist views, but also because Vernon hated trying new foods. Looking over the menu before him, Harry wondered what in the world these meals were. There weren’t any pictures next to them, just descriptions, and Harry wasn’t sure what most of the ingredients were to begin with. What was it like to eat bamboo shoots? He thought of a panda and wondered if it was the same kind of bamboo they ate. Then there was a dish named after a general of some sort. General Tso must have been a strange general to have had a chicken type meal named after him. 

“Er, Draco?” he asked as a certain meal caught his eye. Draco looked up with excitement from his menu. 

“Have you decided already? I already know what I want.” He seemed so sure of himself, which made Harry more embarrassed. 

“Well… I was actually wondering… there’s a dish called dragon noodles? I’m assuming that since this is a muggle restaurant there isn’t actual dragon meat in this dish. Is it safe to assume that?” Draco began sniggering behind his menu.

“Are you being serious right now?” Draco caught glance of Harry’s expression and laughed even harder. “How the hell would muggles get ahold of a dragon in the first place? Have you really never had dragon noodles?”

“No.” Harry looked down at his own hands nervously. “To be honest, I’ve hardly ever eaten out, and I’ve never been to a Chinese place.” When Harry’s eyes found Draco’s again they had softened. His expression had changed to a quizzical look, as if he couldn’t ponder the idea of never having tried Oriental cuisine.

“It’s pretty pathetic that you’ve never had Chinese food,” Draco said playfully. “Just order what I order. I promise I won’t make you eat anything too strange. Though you really should try calamari.” There was a sly twinkle in Draco’s silver gaze that made Harry a bit apprehensive. 

“What is calamari?” Harry asked, suspicion coating his question. 

“Oh, you know.” Draco shrugged. “Octopus.” 

“Okay, I _was_ going to trust you to steer me in the right direction, but clearly I can’t,” Harry said, half serious. 

“I’m only joking, but it does taste really good,” he said while laughing softly. 

“That’s great. I think I’ll pass, though, if you don’t mind.” Draco shrugged again.

“Suit yourself.” 

The waiter came back with Harry’s sake and Draco’s champagne. Harry was genuinely surprised that a Chinese restaurant had champagne, but then again he’d never actually been to a Chinese restaurant, so he wasn’t sure what they served. 

“Are you ready to order yet, sirs?” the man asked with a practiced smile. 

“We are,” Draco said confidently. “I’d like the beef lo mein with a side of spring rolls and posh chopped suey.” The waiter wrote down Draco’s order quickly and nodded, then turned to Harry.

“I suppose…” He thought for a moment. Nothing had really stuck out to him on the menu, but then he hadn’t seen the entrees that Draco had ordered, or what went in them. He thought it might be risky to take Draco’s lead, but he had nothing else lined up as a backup plan. “I suppose I’ll just have what he’s having,” he said finally. The server jotted a couple of notes, smiled, and walked away. “What did I just order?”

“Beef lo mein is sort of a pasta dish, it’s really good. Spring rolls are vegetables and sprouts stuffed into a wonton wrap, and posh chopped suey is a chicken and vegetable dish. You’ll like them, I think.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then we’ll take home your leftovers and I’ll eat it,” Draco said simply. “Or you can do what my mother would do and complain to the waiter that it wasn’t what you ordered and demand that they fix it. Though in this situation I doubt that would work, simply because you ordered what I ordered.” 

“I think I’ll just settle with it,” Harry said with a chuckle. 

 

<>

 

Two glasses of sake and champagne later their food arrived and both Draco and Harry were a bit tipsy. While waiting for their food the two of them gained several odd looks from other patrons in the restaurant for their too-loud laughter. Neither of them paid the other customers any mind, however, as they were so sucked into enjoying their ‘first’ date. Harry ended up liking his food and even requested a third order of spring rolls to take home with them. He’d been apprehensive about the oyster sauce, but that was really good, too.

When they got home Draco had a letter waiting for him, and by the thickness of the paper, the spiraling calligraphy on the front, and the crimson wax seal he could tell that it was from his mother. Even the Ministry couldn’t pull off that much pomp and circumstance in one letter. Draco took the letter to the drawing room and sat down on one of the grey couches, curling his legs beneath him. 

Harry sat down beside him and asked, “Who’s that from? Looks fancy.”

“It is fancy and it’s from my mother,” Draco replied as he popped the stiff seal. 

His eyes moved over the parchment unsteadily, partially due to the amount of alcohol he’d drank, but also due to his nervousness. As his mother’s message sank in he began to sober up, however. He had not expected this to be good news, but he could hardly believe what he was reading. Maybe he’d drank more than he realised because there was no way this was what she’d written. 

“I think my mum’s gone mad,” Draco mumbled, half to himself. 

“You just realised that?” Harry asked. “What did she say?”

“Oh, you know, she just asked how I’ve been, invited me for a cup of tea.” Draco was putting that wall of his back up, using sarcasm to protect himself from his emotions. Looking at Harry it appeared he wasn’t going to get away with it.

“That bad, eh?” Harry asked softly. With a sympathetic expression Harry placed his hand on Draco’s knee, something that comforted him despite his attempt to appear unaffected by his mother’s words. 

“She’s written to tell me that she’s back at the manor and that I’m more than welcome to come home.” Harry scoffed.

“That can’t be true.”

“It is true. Of course she added a few simple conditions that I would have to meet beforehand. Things like leaving my new life behind, telling the public that you forced me into this relationship and that I’m not actually gay, that I was rebelling against my father━ though I’m not exactly sure how believable that is.”

“Simple conditions?” Harry asked, sounding greatly confused. “That doesn’t sound simple to me. Are you considering going along with them?” Harry’s mouth twisted into a deep frown.

“Are you daft?” Draco sputtered, dropping his mother’s letter to the floor. He had meant to come off as sarcastic and he hadn’t expected to be believable. Draco thought that the alcohol might have caused Harry to be less perceptive than he typically was, which said a lot; on Harry’s good days he was hardly more observant than a blind chipmunk. “I haven’t done any of these things yet, have I? Do you honestly expect me to follow through with them now?”

“Well… no, I suppose not,” Harry said thoughtfully. “But you’re taking this rather lightly. Aren’t you upset at all?”

“I’m done being upset by my mother,” Draco lied. “If she wants to take the petty route in all of this that’s her choice. I’m choosing to rise above it.”

“If you say so.” Harry did not sound like he believed Draco’s attempt at shielding his emotions.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Harry said, putting his hands up and then clapping them back down on his thighs. “I just think you’re trying to be tough about all of this needlessly.” He paused, as if contemplating saying his next words. “It’s not a sign of weakness to show your emotions, Draco.”

Draco sat there stiffly for a moment. Bending over, he picked up the fallen letter from his mother and stood from the sofa. “I’m really tired,” he said, not looking at Harry. 

“I am too,” Harry said, standing up. “But I also think you’re avoiding talking about this.”

“I’m not━” 

“You are, though,” Harry interrupted. “That’s fine. You have to deal with this in your own way. You don’t wanna talk about it, that’s alright. When you do━ or if you do━ I’ll be here for you.” Harry wrapped his arms around Draco and planted a soft kiss on his cheek, then left the room. Draco listened to the sound of Harry’s footsteps on the creaking floor as they became softer and felt tears stinging the corners of his eyes.

Draco began pacing as he reread the letter over and over until the lines began to blur together and he had to tear his eyes away from the parchment to stop the nagging, sly voice of his mother from playing in his head along with them. It was all well and good for Harry to claim that to feel wasn’t weak. Harry wore his heart on his sleeve. That much was apparent. Draco, however, had trained himself from a young age to mask his emotions, to bury them until they ceased to exist, or else until he had become so numb to the feeling that it melded with himself, became an asset of his own personality. Such guards proved necessary growing up, what with being surrounded constantly by Dark magic and questionable people, which meant that hiding his true feelings was the difference between life and death at times. Allowing the outside world to view his most inner emotions would not happen in a day; even as tears slid gently down his defined cheekbones, he hastily wiped them away as if even he wasn’t allowed to witness his own vulnerability. Damn it, why did he have to cry so much? And yet there was a part of him that wanted to let go, to allow all of his pent up emotions to seep through the barrier he had built up for just once.

He had told himself that he would be different, that he would stop hiding so much behind that veil of insult and sarcasm that he had created for himself. Thinking back on the time he’d lived with Harry he could see a vast improvement, but he still had a long way to go. Sure, he’d stopped insulting Harry at every turn, but he was still lost when it came to the process of working through his emotions. To him it was the way things were done, shoving back things like fear, grief, and hatred— except, perhaps, where Harry and his friends were concerned. It was going to take him a lot of effort to begin actually feeling. Draco looked down at the letter once more and had the sudden desire to crumple it and throw it across the room, or perhaps burn it, but instead folded it neatly and made his way back to his bedroom.

 

<>

 

Draco had already been awake for an hour when Harry came half-stumbling down the stairs to the kitchen. He watched as the messy haired man hurriedly stuffed toast in his mouth without acknowledging Draco. It wasn’t until he loudly cleared his throat and said a hoarse, “Morning” that Harry paid him any attention at all.

“Morning, sorry. How did you sleep?” Draco merely shrugged. He had the feeling that Harry wanted to talk about the letter from last night but, despite Draco’s desire to be more open with Harry, he wasn’t yet ready to reopen the subject.

“Fine, thanks. Off to work?” He looked down at the breakfast that Kreacher had prepared for him and hoped that Harry would take his hint and stay off the subject of the letter.

“In a bit, yeah. I want to wait for the paper, though.”

“Oh, mine already came. It’s on the counter, if you want to read it.” Harry quickly snatched it up and immersed himself, leaving Draco to sit with his own thoughts. Every once and a while, Harry would peer over the top of the paper at him, as if he wanted to say something, but the air remained thankfully quiet until Harry folded up the paper again and placed it on the table.

“I take it you’ve already had a look at it, then?” He asked. Draco nodded. Harry paused. “Listen, about that letter that your mum—”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Harry. I’m tired of letting my mother have control over my life and my conversations and my feelings. I’m over it.”

“So you admit it, then?”

“Admit what?”

“That what she said affected you.”

“I didn’t say a damn thing,” he snapped, and instantly regretted it. Draco exhaled sharply through his nose and said more calmly, “Yeah, okay, it did. But the more she can manipulate my emotions, the more control she has over my life and I’m not going to give her that advantage.”

“Have you responded to any of her letters?” 

“N-no?” Draco wasn’t sure why that mattered.

“Then you’re not putting an end to it. You’re not telling her these things, so they’ll keep bothering you.”

“But that’s exactly what I’m saying! If I respond, that only shows that she got under my skin.”

“You’re wrong,” Harry stated as though it were the simplest thing in the world.

“And you don’t understand how my mother━”

“You’re still not standing up for yourself. So, really, you’re letting her have some sort of control over you. She’s treating you like a child and you’re letting her by not telling her your real feelings. You’ve got to assert yourself.”

“Merlin, you never mind your own business, do you?” Draco was trying not to get temperamental, but Harry’s confident air in telling him how to deal with his own mother was really beginning to bother him. “I would like to think that, after eighteen years of dealing with the woman, I might have just a smudge of a better idea of how to handle interacting with her than you do.” A stifling, ringing silence followed Draco’s words, and Harry looked dumbfounded.

Harry shrugged and said, “Alright.” He stood up from his chair and walked towards the fireplace, taking a handful of Floo powder from a jar on the mantle. Draco chewed the inside of his cheek.

“Wait.” Harry turned and gave him a questioning look. Draco took a deep breath. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get so worked up. It’s not your fault. I should have—”

“No, it’s fine. You’re right, it isn’t my business.” Harry gave a weak smile. “I have the tendency to get myself involved in business that isn’t mine though, don’t I?”

“Maybe a little,” he agreed with a smirk. And with that, Harry stepped into the fireplace, shouted for the Ministry, and flew out of sight.

As he ate his breakfast Draco thought about how it had taken Harry almost no effort to cause him to get upset. Why was he so easily piqued when it came to Harry? It had always been that way, though. Out of everyone, Harry always had the ability to bring out the stronger emotions in him. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe Harry would, in a roundabout way, help Draco get better at facing his feelings. Regardless of whether or not that was the case, he couldn’t rely on Harry to do this and knew he had to take things into his own hands. 

 

<>

 

There was no place to hide. Harry supposed that was the point of the exercise, though. As he rolled between and dodged an array of brightly coloured sparks that shot from seemingly all directions, he almost wished he’d never decided to become an Auror afterall. This exercise was meant to test his reflexes and the strength of his wards, but with the speed of the spells being thrown at him he hadn’t had time to cast one yet. Just when he’d been about to give up on trying to avoid the random spells being shot from the stone walls they stopped entirely. His eyes darted around the spacious room and his body remained tense as he awaited the next onslaught, but it never came. Then the wall opened up to form a doorway and John Dawlish strutted into the room with a look that made Harry think he was less than impressed. 

“Any particular reason you failed to cast a single shield or counter curse?” Dawlish asked as he stopped several feet from the exhausted and sweaty wizard. 

“Didn’t exactly have time to,” Harry said between his heaving breaths. 

“It’s not about having time. Did I not make it clear that you were meant to practice dodging and blocking?” Harry was beginning to get heated, and not in a dripping-with-sweat way. 

 

“I’m sorry, but I didn’t see anyone else have such a fast attack from the room. Why am I the one being pushed to my limits? Doesn’t exactly seem fair, if you ask me.”

“Not fair, eh? My apologies, Potter. Next time I’ll go easy on you and let you sit out entirely.” Dawlish laughed cruelly. “Oh, wait… Sitting out would mean you’re fired. Is that your preference?” Harry stared blankly at his higher-up, so bewildered that he couldn’t immediately formulate a response. 

“Why are you like this?” he asked when his brain had finally caught up with his ears. “Why are you targeting me?”

“Why are you involved with a Death Eater?” Harry clenched his fists and eyes shut at the same time. 

This was inappropriate work behaviour, but he knew not much could be done about it. If he were to take Dawlish’s bait and act out in violence he would surely be fired. This was an empty threat. Instead of responding, Harry simply walked out of the room and left Dawlish standing there alone. Looking at the clock directly across from the dueling/practice room Harry saw that he’d been in there for forty minutes longer than any of his coworkers had been during their tests and he was late to leave work. He mumbled profanities beneath his breath as he gathered up the few belongings he needed to take home and headed towards the Floo room. 

About halfway to the Floo room Harry had the sudden urge to walk home instead of using the Floo Network. He hadn’t had much time at all to think about Narcissa’s most recent letter to Draco, his relationship with Draco, or pretty much anything that wasn’t work related. The walk would do him good, he decided as he turned left down the hall where he usually took a right. He exited the building in no time and felt a chill as the cold air met his sweat soaked clothes. Taking his wand from his pocket he silently cast a drying spell followed by a warming charm. It probably wouldn’t last until he got home, but it did what it was meant to and allowed his brain to think freely while he stayed warm. 

No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t come up with a way to get Draco to let his real feelings out without prying to get to them. If he pried, Draco would get upset. If he left the matter alone, Draco would wind up hurting with no way to get relief. Harry tried to tell himself that it was none of his business, but that wasn’t true. Due to the fact that it was him Narcissa had an issue with, the entire situation involved him. Maybe Draco’s emotions weren’t exactly his business, but it certainly felt like it. 

 

“Mummy! Looket me!” Harry’s head turned at the sound of a young child’s voice calling for their mother. In a park across the street from him was a young mother watching her son ride a tricycle with less than full interest. She held an open book on her lap and glanced up when the child called for her, but shortly after looked back down at her novel. 

“That’s nice, darling,” she said as she continued to read. 

The child looked to be two years or so older than Teddy, his godson. The thought of the young boy he hadn’t seen since the war sent a guilty pang through Harry’s chest. What a godfather he was, not even bothering to visit. Harry looked down at the pavement in front of him and did his best not to look back at the young boy spinning in circles around the park’s fountain as his voice rang out across the way. 

With new resolve, Harry decided that the following weekend he would visit Teddy. A thought struck him just as soon as he’d made that decision, however. What about Andromeda? What did she think of the situation between him and Draco? Did she even know that Narcissa was blackmailing her son? Would Andromeda want Harry in her home, knowing it could put a new divide between her and her sister? Questions continued to filter their way into Harry’s now confused brain. By the time he reached the stoop of Number 12 he was ready to collapse in his bed and not think about anything at all. 

Harry opened the door to his home, carefully avoiding the umbrella stand so as not to rouse the silent portrait of Mrs. Black, and made his way quietly upstairs. He realised that he probably reeked after the days work and passed by his bedroom, heading straight to the master bathroom. After a long, hot shower, he wrapped himself in a towel and left the loo, nearly running into Draco as he rubbed a hand towel over his damp face. 

“Er, hi,” Harry said as he hastily covered his chest with the hand towel. It dawned on him just how silly doing that was as soon as he did it. He didn’t have breasts, but it felt embarrassing standing in the hall nearly nude with Draco blushing at him and blatantly staring. 

“Did you just get home?” Draco asked, sounding rather nonchalant, although Harry thought he caught the faintest constriction in Draco’s throat. 

“I did, yeah.” Harry, on the other hand, felt very uncomfortable. He’d been shirtless in front of Draco before and had even had Draco’s hands in his pants━ a thought that still caused him to pinch his eyes shut in mortification━ but even with those things, it felt scandalous. 

“How was your day?”

“Could I fill you in after I’m dressed?” 

“I was quite enjoying the view, actually,” Draco replied, definitely clearing his throat this time. He still had the same blasé air as he leaned against the wall, giving Harry room to pass, but the pink glow from before remained firmly set on his normally pale cheeks.

“Er, okay.” 

With his hand tightly holding his towel secure on his hips, Harry breezed past Draco to his room and tried not to slam the door behind him. Once he was in the privacy of his room he groaned quietly into his palm. Why did he get so worked up about it? It wasn’t like he had never been seen in only a towel before. It wasn’t just him, though. He was sure that Draco had felt awkward too, judging by his unconscious mannerisms, but he was unlikely to admit to it. Doing his best to ignore the anxiety in his stomach he pulled on some comfortable clothes and met Draco back in the corridor. 

“Took you long enough,” Draco said with his typical sass. His smirk was in place, though, so Harry knew he wasn’t serious.

“My day was fine, thanks. Yours?” he said sarcastically. 

“Dreadful.”

“And why’s that?” Harry began towards the stairs and Draco followed behind him. He figured the drawing room would be as good a place as any to chat before bed. 

“There’s nothing to do in this horrid house,” Draco said in what Harry could only describe as a whine. 

“Sure there is. You could pick up where I left off with renovations. Don’t you have any hobbies?”

“I used to.” Draco sounded genuinely sullen. Harry pulled open the french doors to the drawing room, went straight to one of the silver couches, making himself comfortable. Draco followed suit on the other sofa. 

“What did you do back when you were a spoiled rich boy in Malfoy Manor?” he teased, eliciting a half-hearted scowl from Draco.

“For starters, I used to play the cello. Sometimes I would paint or write, but my main hobby and passion was the cello.” Harry could recall Draco mentioning his cello during their interview, but he hadn’t thought much about it since that day. In all honesty he hadn’t much thought of it then, either.

“There’s a storage area in the attic. I doubt there’s a cello up there, but maybe there’s something you could find entertaining while I’m gone,” Harry suggested. Draco nodded, but didn’t seem very interested. Harry wondered for a moment if he should ask for Draco’s opinion on visiting Teddy and talking to Andromeda, but after all of the day’s stress he didn’t feel up to it. “Why don’t you go out when I’m gone?”

“And get assaulted by another group of ruffians? I think not.”

“Ruffians? Draco, you sound like a seventy year old man,” Harry laughed. He had an idea, then. He would get Draco a new cello, if he was so set on not finding a new hobby. Though he knew very little about stringed instruments, he knew of a muggle music shop that he was sure could point him in the proper direction. “What sort of music did you play?”

“Oh, Tchaikovsky, Bach, Pablo Casals, Aage Kvalbein. Mostly classical,” Draco said. As he began speaking about the musicians whose music he played his eyes lit up. “I used to write my own music, too. I’ve been so out of practice lately that I’m sure I’d be rusty going back at it, but I miss it so much.”

“What kind of cello did you have?”

“Stradivarius, hand crafted in the seventeenth century.” Harry had no idea what Stradivarius was, but it sounded posh and expensive. Only the best for Draco Malfoy.

“That sounds… nice,” Harry settled on the word, having very little knowledge of the instrument. Draco scoffed.

“Nice is the biggest understatement I’ve ever heard. That cello is probably worth more than four million galleons today. It was a family heirloom, so it didn’t cost us a thing, thankfully. And now it’ll go to waste with no one to play it.”

“Your mother doesn’t play?” Harry asked before he could catch himself. Seeing as they were already on the topic of Malfoy Manor, however, he doubted it would make a difference whether he mentioned Draco’s mother.

“No. My grandfather taught me. Mother plays piano, but only when she has a roomful of people to impress.” He paused, then said a bit sadly, “Except when I was younger. We used to play duets while I was still learning how to play cello, and once I got good at it I was allowed to play with her at parties.”

“I can’t picture that,” Harry said honestly. He couldn’t picture the Malfoy’s parties, was what he meant, but Draco’s next words made him see that he’d phrased his statement wrong.

“Believe it or not, my parents were actually very kind to me when I was younger. It wasn’t until this year that mother began treating me like an outcast.”

“I only meant— well, I can’t really imagine a dinner party at the manor. The only dinner parties I’ve been to were Slughorn’s.” Draco snorted at that, and Harry was glad that he had realized that Harry had not meant to offend him.

“I’m sure _those_ were a hoot, hanging out with all of those wannabes that Slughorn picked out. For being from one of the sacred twenty eight, he sure knew how to mingle with the low-end of society.”

“Wow, Draco. Didn’t know you still felt that way.” Harry couldn’t help himself, even if his statement did cause an argument. He wouldn’t stand by Draco talking that way about him and his friends, or anyone else that sweeping generalisation could’ve been meant for.

“I-I don’t,” Draco stammered. He looked as though he regretted saying it, but it had already been said. Harry knew that, while Draco had certainly made improvements where his blood supremacy was concerned, he was nowhere near accepting as Harry thought he should be. “I don’t think that, really. It’s just, well—”

“You already said it, Draco. Don’t bother.” Draco looked at Harry and Harry looked back, and he could tell that Draco was truly remorseful.

“I was jealous, alright?” A beat passed before Draco continued, red creeping into his cheeks. “I wanted to be included, too. Zabini was there, and Belby, and even Granger and that Weasley girl. I thought that maybe he’d want me there because of my grandfather, but apparently not.” Harry had figured Draco was jealous at the time, but he didn’t think he’d still feel that way now. 

“It was a stupid club anyway. I didn’t even want to go to his parties. They were always so stuffy and weird and everyone was supposed to suck up to him or something. Why would he want to socialize with a bunch of kids? I never understood that.”

“I know it’s stupid. Honestly, but I couldn’t stand that both you and Granger were invited.”

“Why? I know you couldn’t stand her, but why would it matter? If you knew the parties were stupid then it shouldn’t have bothered you.” Draco didn’t answer, but instead stared at Harry and began blushing furiously once again. Harry really couldn’t understand why Draco would blush at his question, but he decided not to press further on the subject. Draco seemed to dislike it when he did that. 

“Anyway,” Draco said finally. “It’s getting late. You’ve probably had a long day, and though mine was boring beyond description we should probably head to bed.” Harry’s stomach growled. He checked his watch and saw that it was only seven in the evening. 

“I’m not sure it’s late enough for bed, yet,” he chuckled. “You’re hiding something, aren’t you?”

“No, not really,” Draco said, his eyebrows raising. “I’ll go get Kreacher━” Just then Kreacher cracked loudly into the room with a tray full of food. 

“Masters are hungry,” the old elf said. He set the trays down on the coffee table between Harry and Draco, then left once again.

“I don’t know how he always knows just when I need food,” Harry commented absently as he heaped a large portion of casserole on his plate. “I swear he eavesdrops on us constantly.”

“Would you be surprised if that were the case?” Draco wondered as he followed suit and filled his own plate. His tone said that he wouldn’t have been surprised at all.

“Not really.” 

For a while the two of them ate in silence, until Draco said, “You never did tell me about your day.”

“Oh, yeah I forgot about that.” Harry took another bite of food. 

“So are you going to tell me?”

“I had training today and Dawlish is putting me through hell. I think he has it out for me.” Harry knew Dawlish had it out for him, and Draco probably knew so just as well as he did.

“Why?” 

_Oh, because I’m basically dating an ex-Death Eater— who he got arrested— and he works for the Ministry, so he naturally hates said ex-Death Eater,_ Harry thought. “He’s just been in a bad mood lately,” he said instead. 

“I was being facetious. I’m fairly sure I know why he’d be in a bad mood with you. What did he do?”

“He’s made training more difficult for me than anyone else and made it last longer for me, too. I called him out on it today and he threatened to fire me.”

“That sounds like something you should bring up with Shacklebolt,” Draco suggested. 

“I’m got going to bother with it. Whatever he throws at me I can take.”

“You shouldn’t have to, though.”

“When has my life ever been fair?” Harry pointed out. Draco shrugged as if to say he agreed. 

“Still stupid.”

“I’m aware.”

 

<>

 

They finished eating, chatting here and there. By the time they were done filling up on Kreacher’s surprisingly delicious combination of lemongrass chicken and assorted cheeses stuffed into a casserole dish, they were ready to sleep for a year. Draco wasn’t sure how to ask for a goodnight kiss, but he eventually found the words for it. Later, when he lay in bed, he thought about his cello. 

“It’s probably just sitting there getting coated with dust in my room,” he lamented, Cosmos being his only audience. “I swear if it gets cracked, I’ll━” He’d what? Break into the manor, where he was no longer welcome, and steal a broken antique instrument that, even broken, was worth more than his life? No, he wouldn’t. There was nothing to be done about it. His mother was not going to give it over to him, either, after all he’d done. At the mention of his mother he looked over to his dresser and the folded piece of paper that sat on top of it. Draco wasn’t sure if he would ever send that letter, but it felt good just having written everything down. As much as he hated to admit it, Harry had been correct about writing out his thoughts. Even if he did send it his mother would only react even worse than she had already. 

Unable to stop himself, he got out of bed and crossed the room to grab the folded parchment. Once he was back in his bed, propped up by his plush pillows that he’d transfigured, he read over it for what felt like the hundredth time. 

 

_I don’t even know why I’m bothering to write this in the first place. You probably don’t care how I feel. It’s obvious that you don’t._

_I’m so fed up with all of this. I’ve tried to ignore it, but you continue to send me hateful letters and I can’t pretend that it doesn’t bother me anymore. Blackmail, really? You would stoop so low? To your own son? Your only son?_

_I’ve tried to be what you wanted. My entire life was just trying to be what you and father wanted. I’m tired of it. I’m sick and tired of being what everyone else expects me to be. Our family has been ruined by pretending and I’m ending the cycle now. I’m not going to leave here. I’m not going to tell the magical world that I’m not gay or that I was Imperiused or whatever other hogwash you wanted me to spout about myself. I’m not going to lie to you or to magical kind and I’m especially not going to lie to myself. I’m finally fucking happy and I refuse to let you take that from me. Be bitter if you wish, take all the money, disinherit me, I don’t care. If you can’t accept me, just leave me alone._

 

There was no signature at the bottom of the parchment. She would know exactly who it was from, if she ever received it. If Draco ever sent it. He still hadn’t decided if that was what he would do. If he were to ask Harry about it, he would say that Draco needed to send the letter “for his own good” or “peace of mind” or whatever sort of moral-based reason. It wasn’t really up to Harry, in the end. This was something Draco had to do if that was what he thought he needed to do.

After placing the letter carefully beneath his pillows he relaxed into them and sighed as his tensed muscles slowly loosened against the cushioning charm on his mattress. He felt guilty, not telling Harry about the letter, but it wasn’t his business. Maybe it was, but he didn’t want to admit it and he certainly didn’t want to show Harry the letter. Not now, not ever. Not even if he never planned to send it. 

It took Draco a long time to fall asleep that night. He stayed up hours after he put the letter away and repeated his own words mentally as he imagined them being scrawled onto the ceiling above him. Even after he fell asleep he heard them whispered in his dreams.


	15. Reformed Romantics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s some house stereotyping in this chapter. We all know Draco only likes Slytherin. Just wanted to say that us authors have nothing against any Hogwarts house and do not mean to be offensive in any way. (Regina note: I have close family in all four houses, so no discrimination here!)  
> (Thanatos note: I’m a Slytherin, married to a Hufflepuff, and my closest friends are in Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, so really… no discrimination.)

The following day at work was a repeat of the last. Harry was pushed to his limits and then beyond them during training. He did manage to cast one counter curse, but was so distracted that it didn’t match the hex he’d aimed it at and he wound up getting hit by a rather powerful Tempest Jinx. This caused rather painful lightning bolts to assault him, one of them shooting directly into his kneecap. By the time he left the training room he was drenched in sweat, cursing under his breath, and had a throbbing knee. After another short talk with Dawlish about his shortcomings Harry was eager to go home and decompress. He decided not to walk home that day and used the Floo instead to avoid aggravating his knee further. 

When he exited the hearth in the kitchen of Number 12 he was surprised to see Molly and Draco sitting at the table sipping tea and chatting. Glancing back and forth between the two people looking at him he gathered that whatever conversation they were having wasn’t a bad one, as they were both smiling at him. 

“There you are!” Molly stood up from the rickety stool she sat on and crossed the room to gather Harry in a tight hug. “Goodness, you’re soaking wet! What happened?”

“Training,” Harry said with a grimace. “I should probably shower off before I stink up the place.” He smiled to Draco and nodded to Molly before heading up the stairs to clean up. He briskly showered and dried, then changed into a clean outfit before meeting the two others in the kitchen again. 

“How was your day?” Draco asked. Harry sat down at the end of the table, between Molly and Draco before he answered. 

“Long and tiring. I think Dawlish is trying to break me,” he admitted. 

“Now why would he do that?” Molly asked in surprise. “John’s always been such a kind man. Why would he be trying to break you?” Harry tried not to glance at Draco, but he did it anyway. Draco wouldn’t catch it, but Molly probably would. Looking back to Molly Harry saw that she had a knowing expression on her face. Before he could answer her question, she continued. “In any case, the weekend’s come, so you’ll have a break at least. How is everything else for you? Draco and I have been catching up a bit. Sounds like you’re a very busy man these days!”

“Busy barely covers it. Aside from hanging out with Draco I don’t have much free time these days. The money’s good, though, so it makes it worth it.”

“And Draco says he’s decided to look for work, too,” Molly said as she turned to Draco. Harry looked at Draco as well, with his eyebrows raised. 

“Is that right? Well good for you!” Harry smiled at Draco, who half-grinned and looked uncomfortable. “How’s everything at home?” he asked Molly.

“Oh, you know. Hectic, as always. George finally reopened the shop, thank Merlin. I was worried he’d decide to close it permanently, but things have worked out with the favor I asked.”

“What favor?”

“Well, I decided to meddle a bit. I asked Xenophilius Lovegood if he would publish a Quibbler edition featuring the shop and he assigned his daughter Luna to the task.”

“So Luna’s going to be writing about Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes?” Harry wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, but if it helped George to keep the shop going he was glad for it.

“She will be, yes. As far as I know she’ll be staying at the shop and helping George run things for a while. I think old Xenophilius might be up to something, setting things up that way,” Molly said suspiciously. 

“Really? You think so?” Harry couldn’t imagine what Mr. Lovegood would be trying to do by having Luna stay at the shop. It sounded innocent enough. 

“Only time will tell, I’m afraid. She’s a sweet girl, in any case. And George is single, now.” Oh. That’s what Molly was afraid would happen. Harry could absolutely not see George and Luna as a match, but stranger things had happened. Harry glanced over at Draco once more and thought that stranger things were already happening on his end. 

“I can’t be the only one who thinks they’d be a terrible match,” Draco said suddenly. Both Molly and Harry cracked up at that and Draco began to chuckle as well. “Seriously, there can’t be two more different people in all the wizarding world. Maybe, perhaps, Umbridge and Hagrid.” 

“Draco!” Harry cackled loudly. “Don’t even _say_ that!” Awful images came to Harry’s mind with the thought of Hagrid and Umbridge together. 

“The two are hardly comparable to Luna and my George,” Molly said as she wiped tears of laughter from her face. “Then again, nobody would’ve thought that the two of you would get together, and here we are.” Draco and Harry stopped laughing, then, and both looked at Molly with sheepish faces. “No, no! Not that anyone disapproves of the two of you━ at least nobody with a good head on their shoulders.”

“We know what you mean,” Harry said. “ We’re not together, necessarily, but it is kind of odd, the two of us.”

“I don’t think so,” Draco chimed in. 

“Well of course you don’t. You’ve known about your personal attractions for a long time. This is all new to me.” Harry saw that Molly looked somewhat uncomfortable and decided it was time for a change of subject. “So… Are you and Arthur planning on going to the Quidditch World Cup next year?”

“Oh, no. I’m afraid we won’t be able to afford it this time. Arthur isn’t getting any free tickets this year, either,” Molly said.

“Why not?” 

“The Ministry can’t spare the money this year. Since the war, they’ve had to sink a lot of funding into repairing the damage done to Hogwarts. On top of that they’ve had to dish out money to those who lost family in the war at the hands of people who were working for the Ministry.”

“Really? Then why haven’t you and Arthur gotten money from them?” Harry knew his question was a risky one. Nobody was past the death of Fred, but he’d asked the question before he’d really thought about it. 

“Fred wasn’t killed by a Ministry employee,” was all Molly said. Her throat sounded closed off and Harry saw that her eyes were moist. Harry recalled that Fred was killed because of an explosion that happened outside of the Room of Requirement and felt stupid for having asked in the first place. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking,” Harry said softly. Molly nodded with tight lips.

“It’s quite alright, you’ve had a long day. I think we all have. In fact, I should probably be heading home now. Arthur’s probably done with work and I imagine he’ll be hungry right about now.”

Molly, Harry, and Draco all stood from the table. Harry circled round the table to give Molly a hug and watched in fascination as Molly then turned to embrace Draco. They must have had a very good conversation, after all. 

“Now you’ll let me know how things turn out, won’t you?” she asked Draco, shucking him under his chin. Harry noticed he didn’t flinch away from her touch. 

“I’ll let you know,” Draco said with a small smile. Harry had no clue what they were talking about, but he figured it had to do with Draco’s supposed job hunt. 

“You boys behave yourselves, and don’t let John run you too ragged, Harry.” Molly smiled to both of them before taking a fistfull of Floo powder, calling out ‘The Burrow,’ and disappearing in a flash of green flames. Harry waited until the flames were gone before asking Draco about his visit with Molly.

“You two seem more friendly than last time,” he said as he sat back down on his stool. Draco sat down as well. 

“We talked a bit.” Draco sounded almost too nonchalant.

“Oh yeah? That’s good.” He wanted Draco to tell him what they’d talked about, but he also didn’t want to push him to tell. Harry fidgeted with his thumbs a bit as he refrained from asking.

“You’re dying to know what we talked about, aren’t you?” 

“I mean, if you want to tell me you can,” Harry said, trying to sound indifferent. 

“That’s a yes, then. We talked about my mother.” That was a surprise. 

“Your mother?”

“My mother. She had some really good advice on how to handle the situation and you’ll be glad to hear that I sent her a letter today.” Harry couldn’t stop his eyebrows from raising. 

“That’s really good! What did you tell her in the letter?” 

“Some things.” Harry knew that Draco was toying with him, then. 

“Really, Draco? What things?” His day had been too long and exhausting for him to feel like playing along. He didn’t mean to sound impatient, but he felt impatient and it leaked into his tone.

“I told her, in more words, that I’m done letting her control me. I informed her that I won’t be telling anyone that what you and I have is a lie and that I won’t be coming home. I said that I won’t lie to myself, or anyone else, about who I am anymore and that I’m done trying to be whatever she wants me to be.” Harry stood up from his stool and sat down on the one beside Draco. Once there, he hugged Draco tightly. 

“I’m so proud of you,” he said softly. At first Draco didn’t react to the hug, but it didn’t take long before Harry could feel the embrace being returned.

“You’re such a Hufflepuff,” Draco said teasingly. As much as Draco wanted to claim that Harry was the only emotional one, it was Draco who buried his face into Harry’s neck. Harry could feel moisture there and he knew that Draco was tearing up. 

“Call me what you want. If it hadn’t been for a Hufflepuff I wouldn’t have made it through the Triwizard Tournament, so I’m not insulted. Anyway, I think you did the right thing.” And to show just how proud he was of Draco, Harry leaned back from the hug and gave him a kiss. Draco seemed mildly taken aback by Harry’s affection, but Harry could tell by the way Draco pressed himself snugly against him that he enjoyed it nonetheless. For a while the two of them sat in the kitchen, snogging happily. There was no arguing, no small talk, no stress, no spells shooting from the walls. It was just the two of them and the sound of gentle kisses. 

When Draco’s tongue could be felt pressing against the crease between Harry’s lips he gladly parted them and allowed Draco entrance. It had been a long time since they’d done this, and Harry mentally remarked on how nice it was. Every time seemed more natural than the last. Less clumsy, more comfortable. Harry let his tongue explore Draco’s mouth, too, and the corners of his mouth tilted up at the feeling of butterflies floating through his abdomen. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt butterflies about Ginny, but he didn’t want to think about her now, not when he was this intimate with Draco. 

Instead of things going too far, or further than Harry was ready for yet, Draco ended the snogging only to place soft, tickling kisses on Harry’s face. One on his chin, then each of his cheeks, and one on his forehead. _And he calls me a Hufflepuff,_ Harry thought with a grin. 

“I’ll have to send Mother more letters if this is the reward I get,” Draco said as he moved one of his hands to hold Harry’s. His other hand remained on Harry’s hip. Their knees were pointed towards each other, intertwined. Harry couldn’t help but think that two months ago he wouldn’t have dreamed of being in a position like this with Draco Malfoy. Now, however, it seemed normal. He liked it. A lot. And that didn’t scare him anymore. He knew he was making progress with accepting himself. 

“So you really told Narcissa all of that?” Harry asked. 

“Yes, I did. And I meant every word of it.” Draco looked sure of himself and Harry believed him. 

“That must have been really difficult for you.”

“It was, but after Molly explained that I was just letting her control me by not saying anything it made sense to send the letter.”

“What? That’s exactly what I told you!” Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

“No…” Draco phrased the word as a question. “I’m pretty sure you didn’t.”

“Yes I did! That’s almost _word for word_ what I said. We argued over it. Do you honestly not remember?” Draco burst into laughter.

.“You’re so easy to mess with,” he said between chuckles. “‘Course I remember.”

“You’re a real git, you know that?” As irritating as Draco could be, Harry found himself chuckling as well. “Speaking of this weekend, I wanted to ask you something.”

“What’s that?” 

A loud crack resounded in the room and Kreacher appeared. “Are masters ready for dinner?” the elf asked in his gravelly voice.

“Now that you mention it, I could eat,” Harry said. “Want to wait in the drawing room while he makes dinner?” 

“I don’t see why not.” The two of them stood and climbed up the stairs, away from the sound of pots and pans being pulled from their cupboards. “What do you want to ask me?” Harry tried to think of the exact question he wanted to ask Draco. 

“Well, I want to visit Teddy. My godson,” Harry said as he sat down on one of the sofas. Instead of sitting across from him Draco sat beside him and curled his feet under his legs. 

“I know who Teddy is. What’s your point, why can’t you go visit him? Can we cuddle?”

“I’m not sure I━ wait, what?” 

“Just seeing if you were paying attention. Unless that’s something you’d like to do. You know, if it isn’t too much for you.” There was no joking in Draco’s voice. He seemed like he was really considering Harry’s feelings on being that close, but was beating around the bush about wanting to be so close to Harry.

“You’re serious… you want to cuddle?”

“I never said that, but if you’re so keen on it…”

Harry laughed at Draco’s poor attempt at hiding his intentions, but he knew that if he said yes that he would be taking a step forward in his and Draco’s relationship. Ginny had been the only other person he’d done this with, and as much as Harry had been uncomfortable doing so, he had a feeling it would be different with Draco. He hoped it would, at least. It would be a shame if he agreed to cuddle and wound up feeling just as strange laying with Draco as he had with Ginny. It had been such a stressful time for both Draco and him and they hadn’t had much of a chance for romance or relationship development. In fact, it seemed as though every time they attempted to get closer something popped up as a deterrent for them. Perhaps, Harry considered, it was time for him to brave these unfamiliar waters with Draco. 

“I… I think that’s alright,” he said, deciding to take a chance. Draco’s face lit up. Harry waited for Draco to lay down on the couch and cushion his head with one of the throw pillows before he lay down as well. He was very close to Draco with their bodies facing each other, but it made it so they could see each other while they talked. 

“You were saying?” Draco asked as he placed one arm around Harry’s waist and pulled him even closer. He had a very satisfied smile on his face that Harry found adorable, not that he would tell him so. He did, however, curl one of his arms around Draco’s waist in return. 

“I’m not sure I can. I don’t know how your aunt feels about me after all that’s happened. Do you think she knows that your mum is blackmailing you?”

“There’s a possibility that she knows, but I can’t say for sure. Mother and Aunt Andromeda were never very close as adults, so I don’t know how much they talk. Aunt Andromeda is also very different from my family, so if my mother did tell her I highly doubt she would approve.”

“How can you be so sure?” Draco merely shrugged.

“Just a feeling. Like I said, she’s a lot different. My family is a load of blood supremacist homophobes and Andromeda loves muggles, so who’s to say she’s not tolerant of homosexuality, too?” Harry thought on that a bit.

“Those don’t really have anything to do with each other, though. But you don’t actually know?” Draco shook his head.

“The Blacks disowned her. I never really met her, but Mother must have kept in touch or something, seeing as she was allowed to stay at Andromeda’s place.” Harry placed one of his legs over Draco’s and they were both quiet for a while, just enjoying the feeling of being intertwined. He found that it was very different from cuddling Ginny, in the way that it was much more pleasant. It felt… correct? Better? Something like that. 

 

<>

 

“You should write her a letter,” Draco said. Harry had been staring at him the entire time they’d been silent and as much as Draco like looking back into those green pools, the silence was starting to bother him. Perhaps if there were music playing he wouldn’t mind, but it was too quiet for his tastes. 

“Andromeda?”

“Why not? What could it hurt? The worst that’ll happen is she’ll tell you no.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. I don’t want to end up being a stranger to my godson. I don’t want him to think badly of me like I did with Sirius.”

“Considering the fact that you never went to Azkaban with a charge of murdering dozens of people in muggle public, I doubt Teddy will think that badly of you.”

“You know what I’m trying to say. Besides, I don’t have the excuse of being locked away for not visiting.” Harry said. He was clearly trying to sound serious, but he had a smile hinting at his lips. 

“I do know what you’re trying to say, and I still think that the best place to start is to write a letter. I followed the same advice from you and it hasn’t backfired yet,” he pointed out.

“When did you send the letter?”

“An hour ago.”

“An hour?” Harry laughed. “For all you know, she might be sending a Howler as we speak.”

“She’s never sent one yet. Then again, I think she’s secretly always wanted to. Maybe she’ll get her chance now,” Draco joked. He noticed that one of Harry’s eyebrows was ruffled, so he used his thumb to straighten it out. 

“That feels nice,” Harry said. Draco laughed at the goofy grin on Harry’s face and kissed the eyebrow he’d just fixed. 

“ _You_ feel nice,” Draco said. He sounded indignant as he said it, even to his own ears. He hadn’t meant to, but he didn’t like admitting it. Or rather, he wasn’t used to admitting such things. It had been a conscious decision on his part, trying to be more forthright about how he felt. Sending that letter to his mother had left him with a sense of liberation and it was infecting other areas of his life, it seemed. 

“Who’s the Hufflepuff?” Draco rolled his eyes at the ridiculous accusation. 

“Certainly not me,” he said. 

“ _Sure_ you’re not,” Harry teased. “There’s nothing wrong with being a Hufflepuff, you know. And it’s not like they’re all emotional twits like you.”

“The Prince of Slytherin demands respect, damn it!” Draco said in his faux posh voice. “Just for that I sentence you to a thousand years of…” He couldn’t think of anything off the top of his head.

“The Prince of Slytherin can’t even think of a proper punishment, can he?” Draco narrowed his eyes and started tickling Harry’s side. 

Harry flinched and began laughing loudly as he attempted to twist away from Draco’s assault on his nerve endings. Draco, however, did not let up and continued to tickle Harry, now with both hands. He pinched and wiggled his fingers around Harry’s side and armpit while Harry started squealing. Harry tried to roll away from Draco, but the latter wrapped his legs around the other and held him there. 

“P-please! Please sto━ _ahaha_!” Harry couldn’t even get a full sentence out between his squawking. Draco didn’t think he’d ever heard Harry laugh like that in all his life, and had to admit that the sound of it━ coupled with the sight of Harry thrashing around like a wild boar━ was one of the best things he’d ever witnessed. 

“Not until you apologize for calling me an emotional twit!” Draco yelled back playfully. 

“Never!” Harry twisted violently away from Draco and wound up on his back on the floor, but Draco followed him down. 

“You won’t get away that easily!”

Soon the two of them were twisted together again, only this time Harry was fighting back with his own fingers. At first Draco was straddling Harry, pinning him down and having the advantage from that position, but it didn’t take long for Harry to reverse their situations. Once he was on top Draco was in a world of regret, because Harry had more muscle strength than he did and was able to hold both Draco’s wrists in one hand, keeping the other free to tickle his ribs and armpits with no effort.

“Not fair!” Draco shouted. He tried to plead for Harry to stop, but he couldn’t force the words out. Instead he was making noises just as ridiculous as the ones Harry had been making. 

“ _Masters are hurt! Masters are attacking each other!_ ” Draco remained tense, even after Harry had stopped tickling him. 

They both turned to see Kreacher abandon a floating tray of food in the doorway as he ran towards them. Draco watched as Kreacher began slapping Harry on the back of his head. 

“Ow! Kreacher stop it, we’re not really attacking each other!” Harry said as he moved his arms to shield himself from Kreacher’s gnarled hands. 

“Speak for yourself,” Draco said. He couldn’t help but laugh at the scene playing out above him. “I was feeling very attacked.”

“Master Draco is in danger, Master Harry has been very bad! Very bad!” Kreacher continued to slap Harry’s head. 

“Alright, Kreacher, you can stop. I’m not in danger,” Draco said. He started to feel bad for Harry after a moment. Harry probably wasn’t hurt by Kreacher’s feeble attempts at punishing him, but it had to be rather irritating either way. 

“Master is… not hurt?” Kreacher asked as he let his arms fall to his side.

“No, Master is━Draco is━damn it!” Draco laughed at himself. “I’m fine,” he said finally. “Do you really think this scrawny berk could take down the likes of me?” Harry jabbed Draco painfully in his rib cage, causing him to exclaim in pain. Kreacher glared at Harry, but didn’t start hitting him again. 

Suddenly, however, Kreacher began hitting himself and shouting about how he had betrayed his master with violence. 

“ _Bad Kreacher!_ Master Regulus would be ashamed! What has Kreacher done?” the elf screamed in a shrill voice, all the while punching and slapping himself. “Against the rules! Kreacher should know better!”

“Kreacher, stop it!” Harry cried. 

Kreacher was about to grab for one of the lamps, presumably to further punish himself, when Harry swiveled around so he could grab Kreacher’s wrists and prevent him from hurting himself again. The movement caused Draco’s entire body to still. Harry probably hadn’t noticed, but Draco couldn’t help but gasp quietly as Harry’s crotch rubbed against his. This was something out of his fantasies, something Draco had told himself long ago would never come to fruition. He was silently awashed with a mixture of glee and embarrassment as he stored this moment among his core memories to look back on later. 

His feeling of satisfaction didn’t last long; Harry climbed off of him in order to better restrain Kreacher. Deep in the process of de-escalating Kreacher from his panic, Harry had probably not had a chance to register the position they’d been in for so long. Draco sat up and leaned against the sofa behind him as he watched Harry sooth the shamefaced elf. 

“Kreacher, it’s okay,” Harry soothed, pinning Kreacher’s hands to his side and forcing him to refrain from self-inflicted turmoil. “I’m not upset with you and Regulus would’ve understood.”

“Keacher was a bad, bad elf… Kreacher is ashamed.”

“You were valiant in your efforts to protect one of your masters. You did the only thing you could think of, and I forgive you.” Draco wondered if Harry really believed that Kreacher was valliant, or if he was simply trying to placate the elf out of desperation. He had a feeling it was the latter.

For a moment Kreacher simply stood there looking at his feet, taking heaving breaths of air. Draco was waiting for another bout of slapping to begin, but then Kreacher seemed to collect himself. 

“Are… Are masters hungry?” Kreacher finally asked. He looked unsure as he glanced back and forth between his two masters. 

“Yes, we’re hungry. Thank you, Kreacher,” Harry told him. Kreacher nodded and quickly left the room. The look of remorse on his face was pitiful. Draco watched as the floating tray made its way to the coffee table and gently landed there. 

“That was uncomfortable,” Harry said, looking back at Draco. 

“I thought the first part was hilarious. Did you see his face when he thought you were attacking me?”

“No, I was busy protecting my head,” Harry said with a frown. “I am really hungry, though, so I’m kind of glad he interrupted. Who knows how long we would’ve gone at each other like that.” Draco was sure that Harry didn’t mean for his statement to turn into an innuendo, but Draco sniggered nonetheless.

“I wouldn’t have minded if you’d stayed in that position a while longer,” Draco said suggestively. Just as he thought it would, Harry’s entire face heated and turned pink, all the way up to the tips of his ears. 

“I wonder what Kreacher made,” Harry said, looking away. It was obvious that Draco had actually embarrassed him. As funny as it was to see Harry react that way, he didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable around him. At least not too uncomfortable. 

“ _I_ really didn’t mind being in that position, if that helps,” he said in an attempt to make things less awkward. 

“That’s great,” Harry said offhandedly. “Wow, he’s really outdone himself tonight.” He began dishing himself out a large portion of the pease pudding Kreacher had prepared for them, then grabbed a stottie cake as well. 

“It was fun, you have to admit that. I don’t think I’ve ever had a tickle battle before. That’s what that was, right? A tickle battle?” Harry shrugged as he split his cake and made room in it for the pudding. 

Draco climbed onto the couch next to Harry and served himself a similar portion. For a while the two of them ate quietly. Draco wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t feel that it was necessary to apologize; Harry was merely embarrassed and would hopefully get over it soon enough. After the both of them had eaten two servings they leaned back against the sofa with their stomachs full and slightly bloated. 

“I don’t think I should’ve eaten that much,” Draco said in a tired way. “I’m too full.”

“So am I,” Harry agreed. “But it was so worth it.”

“Oh, yeah. Kreacher is a surprisingly good cook. It makes it more difficult to miss home that way.” Draco regretted saying that as soon as he’d verbalised it. He told himself that he should know by now that Harry would cling to a statement like that and expect him to elaborate fully, even if he didn’t want to. 

“Do you miss home often?” Draco felt Harry’s eyes on him, and when he turned to look he saw that Harry was staring at him with concern. At least he’d seen it coming. 

“Not really,” he lied, forgetting his deal with himself to be more open. “It’s not a big deal.” Harry nodded, but did not look convinced at all. 

“I would miss home if I were you.”

“Why? You don’t even know what it’s like there.” _Not to mention, you grew up in the shittiest of homes, from the sounds of it. You have no way of knowing if you’d miss it or not in another situation._ Immediately upon thinking that thought he felt a stab of guilt. Just because Harry hadn’t had a good home didn’t mean he didn’t know what a good home was.

“It’s where you grew up, and I’m sure you have a lot of happy memories there. Even if there were some really bad times there, that’s your home. That’s where you should feel most comfortable. Giving that up… I would miss it.” Draco thought for a moment and decided to tell the truth.

“Alright, maybe I miss it a little. Only sometimes.”

“That’s what I thought.” Harry had a smirk on his face and Draco realised he’d fallen into one of Harry’s mental traps. As thick as the man could be sometimes he sure was good at manipulating people. Perhaps Gryffindors and Slytherins weren’t so different after all, he mused. He’d never say it aloud, but he could admit it to himself.

“You’re a twat,” Draco said with a grin. 

“I learned it from the best. But really, it’s not that strange that you’d miss your home. This place isn’t that welcoming, and I’m sure staying here alone all day is torturous. If I hadn’t been trying to fix this place when I first moved here I would’ve gone mad with nothing to do.”

“I’m starting to,” Draco admitted. “This house is so dreary. I’m too nervous to go out because every time I do something bad happens. People will always know me for being a Death Eater.” Without meaning to he started rubbing his arm. His shirt sleeve covered the tattoo, but if he focused hard enough he could feel the scar ridges. Thankfully Harry didn’t comment. Draco thought that he might understand just how touchy a subject that was. Or maybe he didn’t notice Draco’s reaction. 

“Have you gone out since that interview we did together?”

“No, why?” He was positive that there would be no difference in society’s behaviour toward him. 

“Maybe people have changed their opinion on you,” Harry suggested. “It’s not impossible. I think that interview is part of why Molly was so comfortable around you today. Maybe other people will realise you’re different now.” Draco rolled his eyes.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

“You’d have to leave the house in order to see it, Draco,” Harry said with a snicker. 

“Yeah, well… Maybe tomorrow.” He didn’t mean it, but he thought that it would shut Harry up about him leaving the house. He didn’t know if he was ready for that. The last time he went out in public without Harry he was mobbed by reporters, and before that he was beaten up by a group of angry men. The likelihood of him having a pleasant outing looked bleak. _Even going out with Harry proved to be somewhat disastrous,_ Draco thought as he recalled the time that fat uncle of Harry’s had berated them publicly. _Vernors, or something. Whatever his name was._

“You’ll have to get out in order to look for a job, remember?” Shite. Draco had forgotten he’d told Molly that. He hadn’t meant to lie to the woman after all the advice she’d given him. 

“Right…” 

“Were you serious about that? Because you’re fine living here for as long as you need to, regardless of whether you have a job or not.”

“I feel guilty,” he said. 

“For what?”

“I feel like a beggar. I have nothing, really. I have a little bit of money left and I was saving it for an emergency. I highly doubt anyone would hire me around here. They’ll hardly let me into their businesses after what I did.”

“You’re not a beggar. You’re my… my… We might as well just be boyfriends, right?” Harry became rather flustered, but before Draco could comment he continued hurriedly. “And I don’t mind you being here. I actually really like having you here. It makes the end of my day better than it would be if I came home to an empty house.” Harry smirked. “Who would I have ‘tickle battles’ with if you weren’t here?”

“I appreciate that, but I don’t want to feel like some house husband, sitting around here with my feet up while you work all day. And I’m perfectly fine with us being boyfriends. I feel like it was only a matter of time before that happened, with the way things have been going.” 

“Right. Well, then it’s out of the way now, isn’t it? And if you feel that way, then start looking. There has to be someone, somewhere, who won’t kick you out at the sight of you. And if you can’t find a business in the magical districts to hire you, maybe I could help you find a muggle business to work for.” 

Draco wanted to float in the sheer happiness that came with hearing Harry profess them in an official relationship, but instead he had to consider all of the places he’d gone to since he’d been released from prison. The only person who’d been kind to him had been Enthir at Eeylops Owl Emporium. It was doubtful that he was hiring, as it probably didn’t take much effort to run an owl emporium. If he was hiring, his clientel would probably abandon his shop once they discovered a Death Eater working for him. Then Enthir’s business would fail all because he did Draco a kind favor. A job like that probably didn’t pay very much, anyway, so it wasn’t worth it. Working in a muggle business would be absolutely impossible. He had no idea how to count muggle money and had no muggle school records. If he did get a muggle job he would be required to wear muggle clothes every day, which he refused to do. 

“You look exhausted,” Harry commented. Draco sighed and rubbed his face.

“I am. You must be even more tired after training all day.”

“Yeah, I’m ready for bed.” Harry paused and then said, “Think about your options. Don’t limit yourself because of things you think are impossible now. Everything changes, so let yourself adapt a bit.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Draco said with all the snark he could muster. He knew Harry was right, but he hated being told what to do. He especially hated it when other people were right. And by ‘other people,’ he specifically meant Harry. “So, do you really mean it, then?”

“Yes, I think it’s good to keep your options open, otherwise you’re just setting yourself up for failure.”

“I mean us,” Draco clarified. “Being together. As boyfriends. Did you mean it?” Harry’s cheeks went pink yet again and he glanced down at his shoes. 

“I did mean it. If you want us to be, that is.”

“You’d be daft to think I don’t.”

“Then it’s settled.”

Harry raised one eyebrow at Draco and offered out his hand. Draco took the proffered hand and let Harry help him stand. They hugged each other, Draco kissing Harry on the cheek, before they both left the drawing room and went to their respective rooms. 

Once in the privacy of his bedroom, Draco pulled off his robes, button down shirt, and slacks and put on his favorite sleeping outfit: the red dragon shirt and his matching red boxers. He went straight to Cosmos’ cage and uncovered it, only to be greeted with a glare from his companion.

“Oh come, now. You weren’t in here for that long,” he told the grumpy owl. Draco opened the cage and tried to pet Cosmos, but pulled his hand back quickly when the bird made to bite his finger. “Don’t be rude. I’ve been spending time with Harry. You can’t possibly be jealous.” Cosmos narrowed his eyes. “I’m sorry, okay? I really like him, Cossy. I love you, though, so don’t be mad.” The owl appeared to be less disgruntled at that. Draco knew that he was developing stronger feelings than the word like could cover for Harry, but Cosmos didn’t need to know that.

On Draco’s second attempt to pet the bird he was more successful. Cosmos cosied up to his hand and made little happy noises in his throat. Draco chuckled and rubbed that place between Cosmos’ big golden eyes that he knew the bird enjoyed so much. After filling Cosmos’ food bowl and replenishing his water dish, Draco let his friend out through the window for some nightly exercise and hunting. He didn’t think, if he were an owl, he’d want to live off of those little pellets and caged rodents alone, so he liked to let Cosmos scrounge for his own food from time to time. 

Thinking back to the tickle battle with Harry, and after being easily bested, Draco knew he was losing muscle mass. In school he’d always been proud of his ability to gain and keep muscle and it made him slightly disappointed in himself that he hadn’t kept up on his physique. So he did a twenty minute workout routine before climbing into bed with the book he’d started several nights before. 

It didn’t seem like a book of magical origin, but it wasn’t bad. It wasn’t an interesting enough book to keep him entranced, so it was perfect for reading before bed and helped him relax after the exciting new change in his and Harry’s relationship. Just as he was starting to drift off the door to his bedroom banged open loudly.

“I figured it out!” Harry shouted from the doorway. 

“What in the fucking hell━ you’d better have figured out the meaning of _life_ if you want to keep your head on your shoulders, you wanker! You scared me half to death, barging in like that!” Draco’s heart was beating wildly. When Harry had slammed the door open Draco jolted up in his bed, thinking someone had come to attack him. 

“I just realised what you meant before!” Harry said, ignoring Draco’s indignation. He sounded excited and amused all at once. Draco had no clue what he was going on about and was feeling increasingly agitated at the seemingly pointless intrusion.

“Explain yourself,” Draco demanded in a flat tone similar to the one he had used constantly with Crabbe and Goyle back in school. Harry crossed the room and sat on the end of the bed.

“You liked Hermione, didn’t you?” 

“What are you talking about? I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to. You hinted at it enough. Remember when we were talking about Slughorn’s parties? You said it bothered you that both Hermione and I were invited.”

“And that brought you to your conclusion how? Keep in mind that I’m not exactly attracted to women in general, let alone ratty haired know-it-alls.” Draco’s mind had cleared and his heart had calmed down, but he was very nervous. How had Harry pieced that together? 

“Because you blushed profusely after you said it. I knew it had to mean something. It’s been bugging me all day, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.” Harry was sounding a lot like Granger with his mystery-solving attitude. He had no definitive proof.

“I’m amazed you even know the proper context for the word ‘profusely,’ Potter,” Draco said meanly. He noticed his use of Harry’s last name as soon as he’d uttered it, which told him━and probably Harry, if he wasn’t too thick to notice━just how upset he was. “And you assume that because I blushed that means I liked Granger? I still don’t see how you jumped to that conclusion.” Draco returned his gaze to his book and tried his best to look indifferent, even bored, but he had a sneaking suspicion that his cheeks were going to give him away again. Sure enough, he could feel the heat rising to his face.

“I just have a gut feeling, and my gut feelings are usually pretty good.” It was obvious Harry was going to ignore Draco’s insult and use of his last name. Draco wondered if he did that just to irk him, or if he genuinely didn’t care when he was insulted anymore. 

“So you just run your life like this? Making bold assumptions because it ‘just feels right?’”

“Hardly ever fails me,” Harry replied with a shrug. “I’m right, though, aren’t I? You’re blushing again!” Harry was positively gleeful, something that irked Draco immensely, no matter how cute it was.

“No, _Potter,_ ” Draco said, emphasizing the name in his hopes to get across that he was fed up with the conversation. “You’re wrong. You’ll just have to accept that, sometimes, your gut is as useless as your attempts to convince me of this fantasy of yours.”

“I notice you’re wearing that shirt I made you get,” Harry commented lightly, apparently continuing to ignore every rude remark thrown at him. Draco pulled his blankets up to his neck. “It’s cute that you think being defensive will convince me I’m wrong.”

“You _are_ wrong.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why does it matter anyway?” Draco asked, finally exasperated. “Look, even if I _did_ like her, which I _didn’t_ , it wouldn’t matter now. I’ve liked you more, and for longer, than I’ve ever liked her, so let it drop already!”

“Draco.”

“ _What?!_ ”

“You just admitted you liked Hermione.” Draco’s arms fell, along with the blanket and his defences.

“I did, didn’t I?”

“Yup.”

“I hate you, sometimes.”

Harry leaned forward abruptly and planted a firm kiss on Draco’s lips, bringing his hands up to cup his cheeks as well. Without really meaning to he leaned into the kiss. It was stupid, but he felt helpless against Harry’s affection. As mad as he’d been a moment ago, and as defeated as he’d felt right after, Harry had the ability to erase all that in an instant. Draco wanted to wish that Harry didn’t have that kind of affect on him, but if he were being fully honest he didn’t mind as much as he wanted to think he did. 

“That shirt looks adorable on you,” Harry said quietly against his lips. 

Draco opened his eyes and forbade himself from blushing as Harry just looked at him with this irritating smirk on his face. He didn’t respond, but narrowed his eyes in warning. 

“Try to get some sleep, you Gryffindor-lover.” Harry’s smirk changed to a cheeky grin before he left, shutting the door quietly behind him.


	16. Don't Disconnect

As Harry took out yet another sheet of parchment he told himself that, no matter what the letter said, this was his last attempt at writing to Andromeda. He racked his brain for bigger, more sophisticated words and came up short yet again. No matter how much he tried to sound as eloquent as Draco typically did━ aside from when he was being a tosser━ he couldn’t get the technique down. Checking his watch, Harry was glad he didn’t have work the next day. It was late. Draco had probably fallen asleep an hour ago or more. Harry knew he should be doing the same, but he couldn’t stop his mind from writing letters, so he figured he might as well give it an actual attempt. Sighing, Harry dipped his quill in ink and gave the letter one final attempt.

 

_Mrs. Tonks,_

_I’m writing to ask if you would be willing to permit me to visit with my godson, Teddy._

 

He wasn’t sure what else there was to write, really, but the letter needed more substance. He struggled to find the proper words, the proper structure, anything else to add to his poor excuse of a letter. Straining every neuron in concentration, he managed a few more lines.

 

_I suppose I should’ve asked sooner, but I’ve been struggling to find my way since the war ended. I hope you won’t hold it against me. Teddy means a lot to me. I don’t want to be a stranger to him._

 

Just as he’d thought he was done with the letter he thought of one final thing, something he felt he needed to add if he wanted this letter to mean anything significant. 

 

_After what’s happened with your nephew and sister, I would understand if you wanted to keep Teddy out of anything that could affect him negatively later on. If it means anything to you, I promise to do my best to protect him from anything that might threaten his chance at a happy life._

_-Harry Potter_

 

It was less formal than he would have liked, but maybe that was for the better. Harry decided to assume that Andromeda knew about what had happened already. If she didn’t, he would clarify, so long as Draco approved of him telling her. 

Harry set the letter off to the side of his desk to let it dry and put a stopper in the inkpot. Standing up, he felt his back crack in multiple places, something that worried him and also felt relieving all at once. At eighteen years old he didn’t think he should be crackling and popping when he stood up, but he blamed it on sitting in place for too long and shrugged it off. He’d already changed into his pyjamas before he’d burst in on Draco, so he lay down in his bed and released a deep breath as he forced himself to relax. His nerves were frantically twitching and he hadn’t even sent the letter yet. He could only hope that he would get a positive response, but he couldn’t stop his worried mind from jumping to the worst possible outcomes. I won the war, he tried to tell himself comfortingly. _Even if she holds what Draco and I have done against me, maybe that will convince her to move past it._ But he knew deep down that he couldn’t use his status as a war hero to force her to let him see his godson. 

Clearing his mind took much longer that night than it typically did, causing him to feel tired still in the morning. When he climbed out of bed his eyes immediately went to the waiting letter, the reason for his exhaustion. Taking his watch from the nightstand he saw that it was still very early and thought Draco would still be asleep for a few hours. So he decided to take a walk to the post office in Diagon Alley. That bird of Draco’s was unlikely to listen to Harry’s pleas to send the letter at this hour, and Harry would wind up waking Draco in the process. 

Harry dressed in one of the outfits Draco had helped him pick out and went down to the kitchen for a light breakfast before leaving. Diagon Alley wasn’t far, so he decided to walk. His knee was feeling much better now, and it would hopefully stretch his sore muscles a bit. 

Walking down the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley, Harry wasn’t paying much attention to his surroundings. Mostly he was trying to keep himself relaxed, so when someone sneered his name to his left he hadn’t noticed at first. 

“Harry Potter,” the woman said angrily once more. This time Harry heard her. Turning around, Harry was confronted with a well dressed and very cross looking Narcissa Malfoy. 

“Mrs. Malfoy,” he said stiffly, bracing himself for an argument. 

“Where is my son?” she asked quietly. The volume of her voice didn’t stop the threat from residing among her words. 

“Home,” Harry told her. He hoped that his voice sounded nonchalant, but being face to face with the woman who had threatened to ruin both his and Draco’s lives was intimidating, to say the least. Harry had always been somewhat afraid of Lucius Malfoy, but he never thought he’d feel the same way about the man’s seemingly gentler wife. He’d been wrong.

“He needs to come to his real home. He needs to come back to the manor where he belongs. This game has gone on long enough.” Narcissa continued speaking in a low, threatening tone. “Where _is he?_ ”

“Draco _is_ in his real home. Sorry it’s not where you want him to be and that he’s finally making his own choices for once, but there’s not much I can do to help you.” He turned and started walking again, only to feel a strong tug on the back of his jumper. 

“Please!” Narcissa’s cruel voice had changed to a soft sob. 

Harry turned back around to face her and saw that she was on the verge of tears. Her lower lip trembled and her eyebrows raised in the middle, putting creases in her normally perfect forehead. Harry saw the lie in her eyes, though. There was a lack of emotion there, despite the moisture. Harry decided to let her speak anyway. 

“He’s all I’ve got left. Draco is the Malfoy heir━ if he doesn’t take his rightful place, our family will be ruined. I know it’s difficult for you to understand, but this is bigger than what you think you have with him.” 

Harry had to use every ounce of strength in his body to refrain from rolling his eyes dramatically. This woman had clearly taken a few acting classes in her life, or else she had a natural talent. Harry silently wondered how many other people━ mainly men, he guessed━ had fallen for this same trick over the years. He saw right through it and refused to play along. 

“It’s funny that you say Draco is the heir, because he recently received an official letter of disinheritance,” Harry said in mock fascination. “I wonder how that lines up with what you just said…” He pretended momentarily to be deep in thought before continuing with a look of bland disinterest on his face. “I’m touched, really, that you would try so hard on me, Mrs. Malfoy, but you’re wasting your time.” 

Once again he turned and began walking away. Narcissa did not try to stop him this time, but Harry distinctly heard her mutter something that sounded like, “this isn’t over yet.” He tried to slow his heartbeat as he turned a corner away from her. As brave as people thought he was, when it came to confronting Malfoys, aside from perhaps Draco, it was as if his body was rebelling to his decision. His lungs felt like they were only taking half the air they normally should, his fingers twitched, his heart raced, and it was a wonder that he could use his brain at all. 

By the time Harry had reached the post office he had thought of at least five comebacks that would’ve been better than the ones he’d used when dealing with Narcissa. That was the way of things, though, he thought. He silently cursed the fact that the best replies were never available for use when he most needed them.  
Harry opened the door to the small office, went to the counter and gave the postal worker Andromeda’s full name. He didn’t know her address, but any witch or wizard whose house was not under Fidelius protection was registered in the post office records. That meant that his address was not registered, but with the fame he had been forced into, it was for the best, really. 

“Thanks, Mr. Potter!” called the postal worker as Harry left the store. 

“You’re… welcome,” Harry said, feeling strange being thanked by customer service personnel rather than the reverse. 

Instead of walking home, he Apparated. Though he doubted he would, he didn’t want to risk running into Narcissa on the way back. Walking through the front door of number 12, Harry was not paying attention and knocked the troll foot umbrella stand over, causing Mrs. Black’s portrait to begin screaming her fool head off. 

“Fucking hell,” Harry muttered. If Draco wasn’t up yet, he was about to be. Quickly, Harry went halfway up the stairs to the portrait.

“Rubbish! _Blood_ traitor! Worthless slimy sludge in _my home!_ ” she screeched. 

“Calm down, please!” Harry shouted as he struggled to pull the curtain closed again. It seemed Mrs. Black was up for a fight this morning. Why was everyone trying to force Harry to have a bad day?

“Woe are the Blacks, _shamed_ are we! Traitorous scum!” Harry placed his palm on his face in exasperation. No matter how hard he tugged on the curtain, it would not close.

“Let me take care of this,” Harry heard from beside him. He jumped, though he wasn’t sure how he could be startled with a portrait of a mad woman shrieking in his face. Draco stood next to him, still wearing his pyjamas. In another situation Harry might’ve commented on the red dragon shirt that went down to Draco’s mid thigh, but he decided that could wait until Mrs. Black had shut up. 

“Mrs. Black,” Draco said calmly, sounding more respectful than Harry had ever heard him sound.

“ _Horrible abomin_ ━” Mrs. Black stopped shouting to eye Draco suspiciously. “Well hello,” she said, sounding apprehensive as she looked back and forth between Draco and Harry.

“Good morning, Mrs. Black. I’m terribly sorry this…” Draco glanced down at Harry with a look on his face that said he was worth as much as a pile of dirt, “ingrate decided to bother you. I’ve been trying to teach him some manners, but it seems our lessons have not stuck just yet.” Harry felt his chest puff up in indignation, but kept his mouth closed.

“That’s quite alright, dear,” Mrs. Black said, sounding pleasantly surprised. “I was simply concerned that this house, this very prestigious house of Black purebloods, has been tainted by the likes of degenerates.” 

“Then I am happy to tell you that it has not. Harry, here, has come to me in order to learn the way of true wizards. It’s very sad that he didn’t already share the proper views that we do, but I believe that in time he will come around. After all, one can only run from the truth for so long.” Draco chuckled haughtily. 

Harry was seething by this point. He went up the stairs to the drawing room to wait for Draco. Hearing Draco talk that way put a sick, angry feeling in his gut and he couldn’t listen to another word of it. Only a few minutes passed before Draco found him sitting in the drawing room.

“Sorry about that,” Draco said, rubbing his eyes. It was clear he hadn’t fully woken up yet.

“You do that so well, it’s almost like you mean it,” Harry said gruffly. 

“I did that to get her awful screaming to stop.” Draco sounded defensive, but sat down next to Harry on the sofa and took his hand. Harry almost pulled his hand away, but didn’t. “You don’t think I actually meant any of that, do you?”

“It sounded pretty convincing.” Harry did know that Draco hadn’t meant it, but it didn’t make it any better hearing those sentiments coming from his mouth. 

“It had to, or she would’ve seen through it,” Draco pointed out. “I thought that, by now, you’d have gotten to know me enough to tell the difference.” Harry sighed and realised why he’d been so easily upset. He squeezed Draco’s hand once in what he hoped would suffice as an apology. 

“You’re right. I took that too personally. I think running into your mum today set me off my game a bit.”

“Wait, you saw my mother today? When? What time is it?” Draco looked panicked and disoriented, suddenly.

“It’s pretty early. I went to the post office to send that letter to Andromeda and ran into her on the way there. I can see why you’ve struggled to be your own person, now.”

“What do you mean?” 

“She’s really good at manipulation. I’m not quite sure how I saw through her, but I did.” 

Draco was quiet for a moment and seemed to be debating with himself about something. When he did finally speak, his face was full of hesitation.

“Did she mention me? Or threaten you?”

“You were primarily what we talked about. It was a short conversation, if you could call it that. More like her making vague quasi-threats and sob stories and me standing awkwardly in the street.”

“Honestly though, do you ever stand in the street non-awkwardly?” Draco asked. It was a halfhearted jab, Harry could tell. He knew that Draco was bothered if he couldn’t form a proper insult.

“Oh, shut up.” Harry grinned while he said it, and Draco gave a small smirk.

“So nothing really happened, though?” 

“No.” Harry sighed and leaned his head back. “I’m not sure what she’s playing at if she thinks she’s going to be able to convince you to go back by bothering with me. It’s not like I have any more control over you than she does.” 

“I think you’ll find you do, actually.” Draco’s tone was suggestive and he waggled his eyebrows. Harry rolled his eyes and scoffed. 

“No, I think I won’t, _actually,_ ” he disagreed. “Go back to bed with that talk.”

“Only if you come with me.” Draco had the most impish smirk on his face and Harry pinched his eyes closed momentarily. He took a deep breath.

“I set myself up for that one, didn’t I?”

“You absolutely did and I’m not taking it back.” 

“Fair enough,” Harry said, trying very hard not to smile. Draco might think he was encouraging him if he knew Harry found him funny when he said things like that. 

Harry looked down at their entwined hands and noticed that Draco’s Dark Mark was showing. Without really thinking about it Harry reached his other hand across his lap and traced the outline of the skull with his index finger. That is, before Draco snatched his arm away.

“Don’t,” Draco demanded. 

“Why not?”

“I don’t need a reason, just don’t.” 

<>

Draco felt Harry’s finger on his mark for a split second before he tugged his arm quickly away. It wasn’t really that he didn’t want Harry to touch it, but he didn’t want it to be there in the first place. 

“Don’t,” he demanded. 

“Why not?” Harry didn’t seem offended by Draco’s harsh tone, but he felt guilty for using it anyway.

“I don’t need a reason, just don’t.” 

“Did it hurt?”

“No, I just don’t want anyone touching it. I don’t want it to be there. It shouldn’t be there. It’s a daily━ constant━ reminder of why I’ll never be like…” Like you, he had been about to say. “A good person.”

“You’re stupid if you think you’re not a good person,” Harry said with a frown. Draco was about to snap back at him for saying he was stupid, but Harry kept talking before he could. “I didn’t mean just now, though. I meant, did it hurt when you got it?” Draco shook his head in confusion.

“Why— why do you care?” Harry’s brows scrunched together and Draco’s heart was somewhere near his navel. Of course Harry wanted to know about his Dark Mark. It was definitive, physical proof of how different they were, of all of all the horrible choices Draco had made, all while Harry was busy dedicating himself to being the hero. It was a strict mark of separation, and it was permanent, not only on his body, but in Harry’s mind as well. For that, Draco hated it most of all. He had the sudden urge to tear at it, but he kept his other hand still. It wasn’t as if it would do any good.

“Because…” Harry looked sheepishly down at his hands. “I care about you.”

“Did it hurt when you got your scar?” he snapped.

“I don’t remember. Probably.” Draco had expected Harry to get defensive, but he hadn’t and now Draco felt even worse. “Listen, you don’t have to tell me if it’s that big of a deal. I didn’t mean for you to go into detail, or anything. A simple yes or no would’ve worked.”

“It hurt. Tremendously.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry mumbled. 

“It was the worst pain I have ever felt in my entire life, possibly even worse than the Cruciatus Curse. It felt as though flame had replaced the blood in my body. It was like having nails drilled into all of your pressure points all at once, and you want it to stop, but it can’t. You can’t tell him to stop because you have to pretend you’re proud, you have to pretend you like this shitty life you’ve been born into, that you respect the demon that’s fucking possessing you while these black lines force their way into your arm permanently. And then you have to look at it. _Every. Single. Day._ ” Draco took a deep breath and rubbed at his face. He had relived the moment many times, but never to anyone else. He had never been this vulnerable about it. “The worst part was— _him_ — V-Voldemort— in my body. Well, not my body, really. More like— in the mark, I guess. In my skin. But it was awful. It felt like he could see everything about me, everything I thought, said, did… like he was _part_ of me… I didn’t think I’d ever be safe again.” Harry wouldn’t stop staring at him, and it was making him highly uncomfortable. 

He looked down, not wanting to see anything Harry might be thinking. He was either disgusted or pitied him, Draco was sure, and he didn’t like the idea of either.

“And they said I was brave,” Harry said after a while. Draco’s head snapped up as he looked at Harry in disbelief. 

“What?” He finally met Harry’s eyes. “You had an actual piece of him in you, though. His soul.”

“So? That doesn’t mean that what you went through was better or worse. There’s no comparing things like that. I just… I think that’s really brave of you. Ron would kill me if he heard me say that, but it’s true.” Harry shook his head. “The fact that you would go through that to protect your family…”

“I didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter. If I had said no they would’ve killed me anyway.”

“See, that’s exactly why I said the things I did at your hearing. And I didn’t have a choice either. I was a baby, remember?”

“But you did have a choice in how you handled the war. You walked _right up to him_ and let him kill you.”

“People always say things like that like it’s so brave, but in the end, it wasn’t really a choice. Not if I wanted anyone else to live. It was a preconceived plan and I was just a pawn. Even if I had run away, it wouldn’t have made a difference. ‘Neither can live while the other survives,’ that’s what the prophecy said. It was always just him or me and in the end it was sort of both, I guess.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” he said, waving his hands. “If it wasn’t bravery, what you did during the war, then neither was it brave for me to get my mark. It was also a preconceived plan.”

“We’re not seriously arguing over who’s bravest in reverse, are we?”

“In reverse?”

“Yeah, because a couple months ago we would’ve been claiming the exact opposite of what we are now. Reverse.” Draco didn’t have a response to that, so he reverted to the topic of the prophecy.

“So that was all legitimate, then? All that talk of a prophecy?” Draco had heard about it, and he knew that it had something to do with why he had gotten his mark, but he didn’t realize that the prophecy was a real thing. He figured that the Dark-Voldemort━ he had to face his fears and call him Voldemort━ had been delusional and hell bent on finding any way possible to destroy Harry. 

“You didn’t know?” Harry tilted his head slightly

“Nobody ever really told me outright. It was always sort of hinted at as if it was real, but… Well, a lot of information was kept secret from me.”

“Don’t I understand _that._ ” Harry rolled his eyes, and Draco couldn’t help but cheer a little. Harry understood. Maybe they weren’t so different.

“So you’ve actually heard it, though?”

“Yeah, and I reckon I’m the only one alive now who knows what it said. Dumbledore showed me,” Harry replied to Draco’s questioning look. “He was the one who heard it in the first place.”

“Oh. Right.” Draco still didn’t know how to feel about Dumbledore. 

Some part of him would always be jealous that Harry was the favoured one, but there was also a part of Draco that simply didn’t trust the old Headmaster. Perhaps, he considered, it was due to his father’s less-than-positive thoughts on the man. Now that Draco thought of it, though, he wasn’t sure he would’ve wanted to be the favoured one if it meant having to walk directly up to Voldemort and take a Killing Curse full on. 

“I think we should stop talking about all of this. It’s getting pretty heavy.” Harry looked sad and Draco did not like seeing that.

“You’re right. But… thank you.”

“For what?”

“For understanding instead of pitying me or being disgusted.” 

Harry stared at him for a long moment. There was no discernable emotion on his face, but anything that needed to be said was in Harry’s eyes. Draco thought back to when Harry had told him about being a horcrux and realised he was foolish for thinking Harry would react in the ways he’d expected. 

Harry lifted Draco’s hand, the one with the mark above it, and placed it on his cheek. Harry’s cheek was warm, soft and hard at the same time. Draco’s mark tingled after several seconds. It wasn’t a phantom pain, for once in Draco’s life since he’d gotten the mark. Then Harry placed his own hand on the back of Draco’s neck and pulled him forward. 

Draco had expected Harry to kiss him, but he was wrapped in a very tight embrace. Draco moved his hand from Harry’s cheek and hugged him back full-force. Draco felt his insides begin to bubble pleasantly. This was a different hug entirely from the one his mother had given him before he’d left home for the last time. That hug had been brief and guilty. This one was long and full of understanding. When Harry pulled away from the hug, Draco felt bereft, but not for long. 

Their lips met, and it was the most gentle kiss they’d shared so far. Draco felt tears stinging his eyes and tried so hard to hold them back, but failed. Harry’s lips moved slowly against his, parting slightly every now and then so they could breathe. There was no heat behind their kiss, only emotion. Draco felt Harry’s understanding, his pain, his forgiveness, his… maybe not love, but compassion. It was present in the way he brushed feather light lips against Draco’s, so careful as if he could break him if he pressed too hard. 

Harry was leaning back and taking Draco with him. Soon, Harry was laying back on the sofa, his head propped up against the throw pillow, and Draco was half on top of him. Still, the kiss did not deepen, did not turn into anything other than what it already had been. There was no burning desire, no tightening of trousers. And that was just fine, to Draco. These kisses didn’t need to turn into anything else. They were fine the way they were. 

Draco leaned away from Harry to look at him again. Those green eyes were concerned and Draco knew Harry saw his tears. Draco hastily wiped them away and replaced them with a smile. 

“I’m alright.” And it wasn’t a lie. He was okay. He looked down at his mark and didn’t feel quite so ashamed of himself anymore. Harry didn’t say anything, but nodded. Draco lowered his head and let it rest on Harry’s chest. The beating he heard was steady, strong, and evenly paced. Closing his eyes, Draco let himself be soothed by the rhythm of Harry’s heart. 

If Draco didn’t know that it would ruin the moment, he would tell Harry that he loved him. Even though the love he would mean by it was the kind that friends━ and Draco was assuming this, since he’d never had a close enough friend to say it to before now━ shared. He knew that he was developing stronger emotions for Harry, but in that moment, with his head resting on Harry’s chest, the sort of love he felt was the sort of love he felt as a child. The sort of love he’d felt when his mother would pick him up, suddenly, just to give him eskimo kisses and tell him how smart he was, how proud she was of him. The sort of love he’d felt when Cosmos hooted softly in his ear and nuzzled his neck affectionately. That kind. Harry would probably assume he meant the lover’s sort of love, and perhaps he meant that, too. Draco wasn’t sure there was much of a difference, aside from intent. At that time, though, Draco said nothing. Nothing needed to be said. He was pretty sure that Harry already knew, anyhow. He was pretty sure Harry felt the same, though it was impossible to know for sure without confirmation, and he didn’t need that confirmation. Not yet, at least. 

<>

 

Harry wasn’t even aware that he’d fallen asleep until he was being woken up by the feeling of lips against his cheek. He opened his eyes slowly and blinked several times while they focused. Draco was looking down at him, smiling sweetly.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Potter,” he said happily. “You, good sir, have mail.” Harry bolted upright.

“Is it from Andromeda?” he asked. Excitement and fear flooded his senses as his gaze landed on the simple looking letter that Draco held.

“Don’t know, haven’t opened it.” Draco handed the letter over before he sat down next to Harry on the sofa, probably to read over his shoulder. 

There was no wax seal keeping it closed, only a sticker with a smiley face on it. _Strange,_ Harry thought. _I didn’t know wizards and witches used stickers._ He also noticed that the letter was enclosed in an envelope, just like muggle mail was. Curious, he tore one of the ends off and slid out a piece of lined notebook paper, something he hadn’t seen since he’d gone to muggle school as a child. 

“This is the weirdest letter I’ve ever seen,” Draco marveled beside him. “What sort of parchment is that?”

“It’s not parchment,” Harry explained. “It’s just plain notebook paper.” He was beginning to think the letter wasn’t from Andromeda, or maybe not from a magical person in general. “Did this come by owl?”

“Mhm, just a few minutes ago. Weird owl, too.” Draco shook his head with a small frown on his lips. “Open it already, see who it’s from.”

Harry nodded and did just that. The paper was folded in thirds, and as he unfolded it he was shocked by the friendliness that greeted him within.

 

_Harry!_

_You don’t know how happy I am that you’ve asked to come see Teddy. You’re more than welcome here, Harry. I’m saddened that you didn’t already know this, but I suppose I can see why._

_When it comes to my sister, well… There’s nothing really to say, except we have a very strenuous relationship. We’re family, so I have to love her, but there’s so much that I disapprove of that she does. That is a conversation for another time, though, I should think._

_Anyway, you are welcome to stop by whenever you please. I’m at home with Teddy more than I’m out, so really, any time. Perhaps you’d like to join us Sunday at tea time? Teddy will have just woken up from his nap by then, so you’ll be able to see him. I’m absolutely positive he’ll love you, and what better influence for him to have in life?_

_I should probably cut this short before I start rambling, and I think Teddy might be hungry, so I’ll just give you my address and expect you here tomorrow. Of course, if you can’t make it that’s quite alright, too, but Teddy and I look forward to your visit regardless._

_Yours, Andromeda T._

_P.S, feel free to call me Aunt, or Andy, or Annie, or… Well, you get the gist._

 

He had to read the letter several times before it finally clicked in his head that this was the response he’d lost sleep over the night before. There was no way that this letter was from Andromeda, and if it was then the difference between her and Narcissa was more obvious to him now than it ever had been. Harry handed the letter to Draco, but Draco waved his hand as though he were swatting a fly. 

“I read it while you did,” Draco said. He sounded mildly reserved. 

“So I guess we’re going to Andromeda’s for tea tomorrow, then,” Harry said, sighing in relief. He felt so much better knowing that she didn’t hold anything against him. The knot that he hadn’t realised had formed in his gut had disappeared completely and he found himself breathing easily and feeling altogether lighter. 

“No, _you’ll_ be going. I wasn’t invited.” He was sulking, that much was clear. 

“She’s your aunt, though,” Harry pointed out. “I’m sure she’d be alright with you coming, too. It’s just tea.”

“Harry.” Draco said his name thickly, as though we were trying to force him to understand through just saying his name why it was impossible.

“Draco.”

“I can’t go. You read the letter. My mother did less in the war than I did, how do you think she feels about me?”

“She seems understanding, but if you’re really against coming you don’t have to.”

“I’m not coming,” Draco said, still sulking. Harry briefly wondered what happened to the Draco from before, who was opening up and letting himself feel vulnerable. Perhaps he’d experienced too much vulnerability for one day and was now hardening himself. 

“Fine, suit yourself.” Harry’s stomach growled loudly. “Did Kreacher make breakfast?”

“Yes, and lunch.” Draco pointed to the coffee table, which held a trey of warm food waiting to be devoured by a very hungry Harry.

As he filled a plate with the potatoes and beans and other things, he decided to completely ignore Draco’s mood. He would either have to get over himself and go with Harry to Andromeda’s, or get over himself and stay home. In any case, Harry wasn’t going to let Draco’s bad mood bring his good one down.

“I think I’m going to visit Father tomorrow,” Draco said suddenly. Harry was taken aback by Draco’s statement.

“Do you think you’ll be allowed to?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I’m his son, and as far as I know there’s no restrictions about family visiting inmates.” Draco sounded defensive. So much for their good mood earlier. 

“Then I think that’s a great idea.” Harry did not think that it was a great idea. If Lucius looked anything similar to how Draco looked when he was at his hearing, Draco was bound to come home in a right state. Harry would inevitably be the one to clean up the aftermath. 

A thought dawned on Harry, though, as he thought of the possible abuse Lucius might be subjected to. Harry had had that talk with Kingsley discussing the behaviour of his guards, so perhaps the guard, or guards, who had hurt Draco would be removed from guarding Azkaban. It was certainly a possibility, but Harry wouldn’t get his hopes up just in case.

“Are you sure you don’t want to wait until I can go with you?” Harry asked. He thought of Draco running into the guard who had beaten him and knew that, even though he was no longer a prisoner, he would not be received well.

“I’m fairly sure I can handle myself, thanks,” Draco replied snappishly. 

“Just offering, no need to be a prick,” Harry said, sounding just as snappish. 

“I’m going for a walk,” Draco said quietly. Without waiting for Harry’s response Draco left the drawing room and went downstairs. Harry waited until he couldn’t hear floorboards creaking before he reopened the letter and read it once again. 

He just couldn’t believe this letter had been so… so kind, for lack of a better word. It was like she didn’t care about any of the things Narcissa had most likely told her. In fact, it sounded as though she did not agree with the way Narcissa was handling the situation with Draco. But then he could’ve been misinterpreting the letter. She could’ve been talking about anything Narcissa had done, really. 

Harry sat in the drawing room along for hours, sometimes reading the letter, sometimes snacking on the tray of food, sometimes just thinking. Draco hadn’t come back, but Harry wasn’t very worried. Like Draco had said, he could handle himself.


	17. The Visits

Draco didn’t know how long he’d been walking, but his legs were sore and his feet were aching with every step. He figured he needed some time alone to think without bickering with Harry. 

Part of Draco hated himself for being jealous of the letter from his aunt, but he couldn’t help it. She’d never sent him a letter, and he doubted that if she had it would’ve been half as friendly as the one Harry received. That was all part of who he was, he began to understand. His own family hated him for the choices he’d been forced to make due to his parents’ views and morals. Knowing that he could blame his lack of relationship with his aunt on his parents didn’t make it any easier, however. 

The worst thing was probably that he’d spent most of his life hating Andromeda because of the things his mother and father had said about her. His mother was always going on about how weak she’d been, falling for a muggleborn wizard the way she had. His father had claimed that there was something wrong in her head, and she couldn’t be trusted. That was their reasoning for never inviting her to dinner parties, holiday events, and things like that. Draco didn’t even want to recall the things Bellatrix had said about Andromeda. 

Actually, the worst thing in Draco’s mind, now that he thought about it, was probably that Andromeda had clearly forgiven his mother for the things she’d done. Forgiven her and let her stay at her house. And yet Draco couldn’t be trusted to stay as well. The person who had aided in forcing him down the path he’d taken in life was trustworthy enough to stay, but he wasn’t. 

After another hour or so Draco decided it was time to go home. He had thankfully not run into anyone he knew, but he also had mainly kept to empty streets in what he assumed were muggle neighborhoods. Draco walked behind a half-fallen wooden fence and Apparated back to Grimmauld Place. 

Upon entering the house he listened to see if Harry was still awake. It had been around four when he’d left, and looking at the clock hanging on the wall across from him, he realised just how long he’d been walking. It was already nine in the evening. No wonder his legs were killing him, but honestly it hadn’t felt like that long. 

He couldn’t hear any signs of Harry walking around, so Draco went up the stairs and to his bedroom. When he opened the door he found Harry sitting on his bed.

“You’ve been gone five hours,” Harry said, standing up. 

“I was walking,” Draco explained. 

“Well next time… I don’t know, tell me how long you’ll be gone. Normal people don’t go for five hour walks.”

“Were you worried?” Draco teased. He wasn’t in a good mood, but he could still tease Harry either way. Knowing that Harry was worried about him did help lift his mood slightly, though. 

“Yes, I was worried, you prat.”

“Well I’m here now, so calm down.”

“Please don’t do that again, Draco,” Harry said more softly. The edge in his voice was gone. “If you’re that upset with me just tell me so. You don’t have to wander around aimlessly for hours just to get away from me.”

“It wasn’t you I was trying to get away from. I wasn’t trying to get away from anything, really. I just needed to get out.” Harry sighed and nodded his head. He didn’t look like he understood Draco any better than Draco understood himself, but at least he wasn’t shouting anymore. “I’m really tired, so… I think I’m going to head to bed.”

“Alright, yeah.” Harry looked down at the floor and back up at Draco. “I would really like it if you came with me tomorrow. I don’t know Andromeda very well and I’m nervous about visiting with her.” Draco felt his eyes narrow just a fraction.

“I’m not coming, I already told you. I wasn’t invited, she doesn’t want me there, she doesn’t trust me. Okay?” Harry looked concerned and hurt, but simply nodded and left Draco’s bedroom. 

“And I’m the prat,” Draco mumbled to himself. 

As he was removing his shirt to get ready for bed he realised just how much of a sweat he’d worked up on his walk and knew he needed a shower. He exited his room, looking both ways before dashing down the hall to the bathroom at the end of it. It would’ve been just as easy to throw his robes back on, but he hadn’t thought of it until he was already in the bathroom. Even though he was just shirtless, he didn’t feel comfortable exposing his chest to Harry. Not yet. There were a lot of scars there, from when Harry had cast Sectumsempra on him in sixth year, and the last thing Draco needed on top of his own guilt was Harry’s. 

After a long, hot shower, Draco wrapped a towel around his hips, threw on a his dragon shirt, and went back to his bedroom where he promptly fell on the bed and passed out. 

 

<>

 

Doing his best to calm down, Harry called out the address Andromeda had left at the bottom of her letter and let the Floo pull him wildly to her hearth. He’d brought a stuffed penguin for Teddy as a gift, but he hadn’t bought anything for Andromeda. He didn’t know what sort of things she liked, so he was at a loss for what to get her. He figured that Teddy, being a baby, would be content with a stuffed animal.

As soon as he stepped out of the fireplace and dusted himself off he found himself in the same modest sitting room that he had briefly visited the previous summer, only this time he actually had a clear enough head to take a good look around. The furniture reminded him a bit of the Dursley’s house, but it was less gaudy. There were many pictures in frames along the walls of the room, all featuring a smiling, happy Tonks, Andromeda’s late husband Ted, or Teddy. Harry tried very hard not to stare at these pictures, but he’d lost his ability to look away when his eyes caught one of Remus and Tonks holding their newborn baby. Tonks looked exhausted and at peace, with messy hair and swollen face, while Remus beamed down at the screaming child in his wife’s arms. Harry found himself lost in the picture as it repeated the same instance over and over. 

Suddenly, from one of the doorways off of the sitting room, came Andromeda, effectively taking his eyes away from the heartbreakingly beautiful photo of a family unaware of their devastating future.

“Harry!” A lovely witch with dark curly hair braided over her shoulder came towards him and hugged him tightly. “Oh, I’m so glad you decided to come today!” She let him go and stepped back a bit. Harry saw that her cheeks were slightly flushed and, though she was smiling, she looked unsure of herself.

“Thanks for inviting me,” Harry said as cheerfully as he could, doing his best not to think further of that picture. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

“Why not? You’re practically family, Harry. Dora always had such wonderful things to say about you. I hardly think she was over exaggerating.”

“Th-thanks,” Harry said, not really able to think of anything else to respond with. As much as Harry tried to stop obsessing over the picture, hearing Andromeda speak of her daughter aloud made it even more difficult to do so. He still hadn’t really accepted that Remus and Tonks were gone. 

“How about some tea? Teddy’s still sleeping, I’m afraid.” Andromeda motioned for Harry to follow her and went through a doorway near the back of the sitting room. 

At her mention of Teddy sleeping she threw an apologetic glance over her shoulder. Harry followed her into the kitchen and stood awkwardly near the threshold. 

“Feel free to sit down, Harry. Make yourself at home.” She busied herself with making tea while Harry gingerly pulled one of the kitchen chairs away from the table and sat down. 

“You have a really nice house,” he said, trying to fill the silence. He looked around and found that there were many cat related things here and there, including a little matching salt and pepper shaker set in the shape of two kittens pawing at each other. 

“Oh, please. It’s nothing, really,” she said with a light giggle. “I haven’t done much with it since Teddy came into my care. It’s hard to keep things orderly while taking care of a baby.” Harry nodded, though he couldn’t exactly relate. 

Just as Andromeda was about to seat herself in the chair across from his, Harry heard a loud wail coming from above them.

“That’ll be Teddy.” Her face lit up as she left the kitchen. “Back in a second, he’ll need a clean nappy, I think,” she called to him from the other room. 

Harry listened to the sounds of her footsteps moving up the stairs and through the upper level. He waited patiently, albeit awkwardly, for Andromeda to return. Looking down at his hands he realised they were shaking. In the excitement of finally getting to Andromeda’s house he’d been distracted from how nervous he actually was to see Teddy. He definitely wouldn’t recognise him; he was so young still and Harry had only seen pictures of him. Harry hoped this would be a good introduction, but he wasn’t sure how to introduce himself to an infant. 

“Look, Teddy,” Andromeda said from behind him. “It’s Harry!” Harry turned around to see a pudgy, small baby with bright green hair in Andromeda’s arms.

“H-hi, Teddy,” Harry said, trying to sound animated. He was excited, but he’d never really been comfortable around babies and wasn’t sure how he was supposed to talk to him.

“He’s chosen green today, it looks like,” Andromeda explained as she sat down across from him with Teddy on her lap. “Yesterday it was pink, and let me tell you, he looked just like his mummy when she was his age.” Andromeda’s smile was a wistful one. Harry watched as Teddy tried to grab for the salt and pepper shakers on the table. Andromeda took his hand carefully in hers and said softly, “No, love, we’ve talked about this,” as though Teddy understood her reasoning. Teddy yelled loudly and continued to reach for the shakers, but Andromeda disregarded it. 

“Can he say anything yet?” Harry found himself asking.

“Oh, not really. He’s only three months old, so he hasn’t learned any real words yet. I’m impressed that he’s been making as much noise as he has,” she laughed. The kettle began to whistle on the stovetop. “Would you mind holding him, Harry, while I get us some tea?”

“Er, no, not at all.” 

“Thank you,” she said as she stood up. She leaned across the small table and carefully held Teddy out to him. Harry looked at Teddy’s chubby face and smiled as he took him and brought him to lay in his arms, being cautious about his neck, which seemed unstable. 

Harry slowly leaned the child back in the crook of his arm and looked down at his godson in amazement. This little human was Remus and Tonks’ son. Teddy giggled in his high voice and began kicking at the air with no real purpose other than to move his legs. 

“You’re so cute,” Harry marveled. 

“He’s absolutely beautiful,” Andromeda agreed as she sat back down with two cups of tea. After setting them down she said, “You’re welcome to hold him for as long as you want, just be very, very careful with your tea. Let it cool for a bit before you drink it, please.”

“I’d like that a lot,” Harry said, unable to stop smiling down at the baby in his arms. “I’ll be careful.”

“You look like a natural with him, Harry. I think that, one day, you’ll be an excellent father.”

Harry knew she meant it as a compliment, but frowned slightly. He was still young, and so it was difficult to know, but he didn’t see himself ever having children of his own. Especially now that he was beginning to discover more about his sexuality. He supposed he could always adopt, but he didn’t know if Draco… Why was he thinking about parenting with Draco? They’d only just started dating, there was no way he could assume that they’d adopt together any time in the near or distant future. Harry shook his head and dispelled the thought from his mind. 

“You’re awfully quiet,” Andromeda said. “I didn’t mean any offense by that. I know you and my nephew are… Well, in the interview you said you weren’t in a relationship, but things change so quickly, don’t they?”

“We’re in a relationship, now,” Harry told her, looking up from Teddy to Andromeda.

“I’m happy for you,” she said genuinely. “Hopefully with your influence he’ll change his ways. For a long time I feared he would end up just like Lucius.”

“He’s nothing like Lucius,” Harry said. He tried very hard not to sound defensive, but even he could hear the sharp edge in his words. 

“I’m glad to hear it. How is he, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“He’s…” _Depressed? Upset with me for coming to see you? Jealous that he wasn’t invited, too?_ “He’s not bad. Everything that’s happened with his mum has really affected him.”

“What’s happened with Narcissa?” Andromeda was clearly curious. Harry didn’t know how much he should say, or if he should say anything at all. Draco hadn’t said it was okay for him to explain, and Harry hadn’t asked. “You don’t have to tell me, it’s alright.”

“She tried to blackmail him,” Harry said on a sigh. Draco would have to deal with him telling her. It was clear she didn’t really understand him and Harry was intent on trying to make her understand. 

“Blackmail? You’re joking… Though, I suppose I wouldn’t put it past her,” Andromeda added under her breath before sipping her tea. “What for?”

“For being with me. For not telling the public I put him under Imperius to do my bidding. For not going back to the manor so she could control him again like she has all Draco’s life. She ended up disinheriting him officially. Draco got a letter from Gringotts not too long ago letting him know he was no longer the Malfoy heir. All because he decided he wanted to be with me and, for the first time in his life, separate himself from his parents’ beliefs.” Andromeda listened raptly, her eyes held firmly on Harry’s face, her expression growing more and more shocked as he went. 

“You can’t be serious,” she said, sounding breathless. “I-I never knew… I thought he was…”

“I did, too,” Harry agreed, knowing what she meant. “For years I thought he was going to be the next Lucius Malfoy, hell bent on purifying the wizarding world. I think, when he was younger, he genuinely did agree with his parents’ views, but what child doesn’t?”

“That’s very true. You’re wise for your age.”

“Thanks, it was the trauma,” he said before he could stop himself. He flushed and chuckled nervously, and Andromeda gave a half smile.

“You remind me of my daughter when you joke like that. She had the strangest sense of humour,” she remarked, almost as if talking to herself. Harry didn’t know what to say to that. Andromeda seemed to sense this and brought the conversation back to Draco. “When did you notice a difference in him?”

“Well, sixth year he started acting differently. It wasn’t really one situation that made me think that I might’ve been wrong about him━ not to mention, even after I did notice some changes he was still really horrible to me, so it wasn’t really obvious at first. Sixth year, though, I found him crying in one of the bathrooms. I thought he was up to something and reacted really badly…” Harry trailed off, not wanting to delve into just _how_ badly he’d reacted. “I’m sure you’ve read about what I said during his hearing by now.” Andromeda nodded. She had a strange expression on her face, as though she weren’t sure how to feel about what he’d said. “All of those things were true. After the hearing, after he was freed and I moved out of the Weasley’s home, we sort of… ran into each other. That wasn’t a pleasant experience, but when I saw the paper the next day I knew I couldn’t feel right with myself if I didn’t at least offer to help him.”

“So _that’s_ how he wound up living with you,” Andromeda said. “I wondered…” She glanced down at Teddy in Harry’s arms and smiled. “I think he likes you, Harry.”

Harry looked down and found Teddy staring up at him, a look of pure contentment on his face. His wet, pink lips were just barely parted, and his large brown eyes wide. He really was a beautiful baby, Harry thought to himself. 

“I think he does. He’s really quiet, though. Is he alright?” Harry had little to no knowledge on babies and their behaviour. 

“He’s perfectly fine, though he’s probably getting hungry. You keep talking, I’ll fetch him a bottle.” Andromeda stood from her chair and took a large tin from one of her cabinets, then a plastic baby bottle from another. 

“After Draco moved in we sort of had no choice but to get to know each other,” he continued. “That’s when I really began to see how different he was from who I thought he was for all these years. I may have gone to school with him since I was eleven, but for all I thought I knew, he might as well have been a stranger. It’s really weird. I never thought I’d change how I felt about him, but how I feel about him now and how I felt about him a few months ago are on two opposite ends of the spectrum.” Harry watched Andromeda fill a pot with water and set it on the stove. 

“That’s… really good,” she said. It didn’t sound like she meant it, though. She sounded a bit forlorn. “I feel absolutely horrible, now.”

“I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” Harry rushed to say. 

“No, no. _You_ didn’t make me feel bad, _I_ did.” She plopped the bottle of what Harry could only assume was milk in the boiling water. “I thought he… well, I’m sure you know exactly what I thought from the sounds of it. That’s why I didn’t invite him to stay here. Narcissa didn’t think it was a good idea, either, though.”

“Wait, why not?” Harry hadn’t been expecting to hear this. As far as he knew, Andromeda’s feelings towards Draco had been the sole reason behind her not inviting him to stay.

“She didn’t think he could be trusted, and I’ll admit, it didn’t take much convincing me that he wasn’t trustworthy either.”

“Why didn’t his own mother think he could be trusted to live with you?”

“You’re upset,” Andromeda stated. 

“I’m just confused.”

“Well, then you’re going to be upset in a moment. She said he’d done all these horrible things and, me having married a muggleborn, she didn’t think it was a good idea for him to live here.”

“But he didn’t━”

“I know that, now. I didn’t at the time.” She took the bottle from the water and turned the stove off, then let a little drop of liquid spill from the nipple shaped rubber part onto her arm. Turning towards Harry, she asked, “Do you see why I feel guilty?” Harry nodded. Andromeda sighed. “How would you like to feed Teddy?” 

“I’ve never fed a baby before.”

“It’s quite simple; he’s already learning to hold the bottle himself, so just a bit of support is all that’s necessary. That position you’ve got him in is just fine. Get some bonding time in, you’ll enjoy it.”

“Alright…” Harry was nervous as he took the warm bottle from Andromeda. 

Teddy cooed when his eyes landed on the bottle and his little arms reached out for it. His fists, his tiny fists, were opening and closing in anticipation. Harry tilted the bottle and brought the nipple to Teddy’s mouth, then laughed as Teddy began to shake his head from side to side, his mouth wide open. 

“What’s he doing?” Harry asked. 

“He’s rooting for the nipple,” Andromeda said, laughing. “That’s an instinct babies have. It helps them find their mother’s nipple to eat.”

“Oh.” Harry felt a blush creeping up his neck and looked down at Teddy as he sucked down his meal. “What’s he drinking?”

“Formula. It’s a breast milk alternative. Babies his age, and up until a year old, aren’t supposed to drink cow’s milk.”

“Is it bad for them?”

“Their stomachs can’t handle it, so yes. It’s not good for them.” Andromeda was quiet as she watched Harry feed Teddy. “You really are a natural, Harry.”

“Erm, thanks. You were right about it being easy, though.” Harry looked back down and saw that Teddy was smiling around the nipple of the bottle, looking up at him. 

He couldn’t help but grin widely at the infant, loving the feeling of being adored by a baby. Although Harry didn’t know much about babies, he did know that they had the most pure emotions. When a baby was sad, they were devastated. When a baby was angry, they were incensed. When a baby was happy, they were exstatic. When a baby loved, they loved with all their hearts. 

“I love you, Teddy,” he said softly, unable to help himself. Teddy giggled softly and resumed drinking his formula. 

“I think he loves you, too, Harry. You really are welcome here any time, just owl me a heads up in advance to make sure we’re in and up for having company. Not every day is this easy, so sometimes I may not want any guests, but I’ll let you know if you ask.”

“Thank you, Andromeda.” Harry wanted to ask, ‘what about Draco,’ but he knew it was too early. Andromeda probably had some things to sort through about Draco and Harry did not feel inclined to rush that process. Not to mention that inviting someone to another person’s house was incredibly rude. 

“I’m sure Draco would like to meet his cousin, too,” Andromeda said hesitantly. “If… if he wants to come next time, he can. Will you tell him?”

“I’m sorry, but I really think that’s something you should tell him. He was sort of jealous about your letter.” Harry immediately regretted saying that, as was common for him when he spoke, because Andromeda’s jaw dropped open. 

“I can’t believe━ oh, I’m such an idiot.”

“You’re not, you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t, but I feel absolutely terrible now. You’re right, I’ll have to invite him myself. Thank you for telling me, Harry.” Andromeda set her forehead in her hand and groaned. “They say the older you get the wiser you get, but I’ve yet to see proof of that.”

“It’s okay, really. I don’t think Draco will hold it against you. He probably feels lonely, though, that he’s lost practically all his family. There was no way you could’ve known what sort of person he was, even before the war, because he had to pretend constantly. That or risk his mum and dad, and himself, being killed.”

“It didn’t really help much that my sister and her awful husband kept him from being ‘exposed’ to me and my lifestyle.” She shook her head slowly. “I can’t believe the things they put him through. He was just a child.”

“I know.” Harry grimaced. “I probably should’ve let him tell you all of these things, but I thought it was important that you knew who he really is.”

“I’m very grateful, Harry. I can’t thank you enough. I don’t think I ever would’ve taken the chance to get to know him if not for you.”

“Well… You’re welcome.” Harry still was not very good at being thanked. 

“It looks like Teddy’s done eating. Pass him over and I’ll burp him.” Harry suddenly felt sad at the prospect of giving Teddy back to Andromeda.

“Could I burp him? I mean, if you’re alright with that. I don’t know how, actually…”

“Of course! It’s really nice to get a break,” she laughed. “Here, let me help you. You’ll need a cloth.”

“What for?”

“In case he spits up.” Harry didn’t know what spitting up was, but he didn’t mind a bit of baby drool. Andromeda took her wand from her sleeve and summoned a thick cloth. “Set that on your shoulder.” Harry did. “Alright, now prop him up with his chest against your shoulder. His chin should reach just above your shoulder. Support his neck a bit, though.” Andromeda gave instructions while Harry followed them. “Now all you have to do is pat his back… A bit harder; he won’t break, I promise… That’s more like it.”

“This is so weird,” Harry said as he laughed. 

“You’re doing perfectly,” Andromeda said. “Oh! Is it alright if I take a photo? This should go in the baby book. I can’t believe I didn’t get one of you feeding him. Where is my head today?”

“Go ahead,” Harry said, continuing to pat Teddy’s back. 

Andromeda left the kitchen again and Teddy burped. She came back with an antique looking camera that Harry knew would produce a moving photograph. Although Andromeda seemed to prefer to do things without magic, it seemed she liked to take magic pictures. Harry couldn’t blame her; he’d always been fascinated by the moving images that magic cameras produced. 

“Ha!” Andromeda let out a guttural laugh. “I thought that would happen. This is definitely going in the baby book.” Harry was confused, but Andromeda took the camera and stood behind him. A bright flash went off, and the sound of a photo being taken was heard. “That’s perfect,” Andromeda said, still giggling softly. 

“What happened?”

“He spit up on you. But don’t worry, it didn’t get on your clothes.”

“It would’ve been okay if it had.”

“Really? Most people, especially people without children, don’t want babies puking on them.”

“He _puked?_ ” Harry asked frantically. He lifted Teddy carefully off his shoulder and looked at him. He seemed fine. “Is he alright? Is he sick?” Andromeda laughed again and came to stand in front of him.

“No, that happens often when babies eat, especially from a bottle. They end up swallowing air bubbles. That’s why you have to burp babies after they eat. Otherwise you’ll have a crabby infant on your hands, and they’ll be in pain.” 

“Well then. Today has been... very educational,” Harry said, feeling himself relax a bit. He put Teddy back in the crook of his arm and stroked his cheek lightly before he realised he hadn’t given him the penguin. “I just remembered, I brought him something.”

“Oh?” Harry dug in his pocket and produced the shrunken stuffed penguin he’d brought for Teddy. “Isn’t that just darling! Though I’m afraid it’s a bit too small for him. I can hang onto it until he’s a bit older, though.” 

After taking his wand from his pocket, Harry brought the penguin back to its original size, relatively the same size as a football. 

“Are you sure he can’t have it?”

“I didn’t realise it was shrunken,” Andromeda said. “That’s perfect, Harry. He’ll love playing with that, I’m sure.” Harry gave the penguin to Teddy, who promptly stuck the stuffed animal’s beak in his mouth and chewed on it. “See?”

Harry checked his wrist watch and saw that he’d been at Andromeda’s house for a couple of hours now. He didn’t want to put Teddy down, but he knew he needed to get back to Number 12 in case Draco needed him. Harry knew he went to visit his dad in prison and didn’t think it was going to go over well.

“I hate to go, but I sort of need to,” Harry said, feeling gawky. 

“That’s quite alright. I think we’ll be seeing much more of each other now.” Andromeda stood up and came round the table. “Sorry, Teddy, but Harry has to go home now.” Harry let her take Teddy from his arm and watched her plant a soft kiss on his temple. 

“I really appreciate you having me over.” Harry glanced down at his untouched cup of tea. “Sorry I didn’t drink the tea, I forgot it was there.”

“Oh I understand that. Half the time this little one keeps me from drinking my tea until it’s cold, he keeps me so busy. No hard feelings at all,” she said with a smile. 

They walked out of the kitchen to the sitting room again and Andromeda took a jar of Floo powder from on top of the television that Harry hadn’t noticed before. He frowned to himself, wondering how the telly worked with all of the magic around it. 

“You’ll come again soon, won’t you?” Andromeda asked.

“Absolutely. I want to be a part of Teddy’s life. It’s important to me.” Andromeda gave him a knowing smile and wrapped him in yet another hug, but with only one arm. 

“Say goodbye, Teddy! Wave your hand!” Teddy did not do either, but he smiled a gummy smile at Harry and Harry grinned back. “Goodbye, now, Harry. Keep in touch, dear.”

“I will, I promise.” 

As soon as Harry felt the brushing of flames against his legs he missed Teddy. That little person already had him wrapped around his finger and Harry knew it wouldn’t be long before he went back to see him. 

 

<>

 

Draco sat in his bedroom, mentally preparing himself for his visit with his father. He hadn’t sent any warning that he’d be going; he doubted the guards would let his father know even if he did give notice. His palms were sweating along with his brow. He’d put on his best robes, not wanting his father to see him in anything but the best, but he could not force himself to get up off the bed and leave the house. He was terrified to go back to the Ministry, terrified to ride the ferry out to the island, and even more terrified of being back on the island. But he missed his father.

_Harry wouldn’t be sitting here cowering. Harry would be brave and march right into the Ministry, demanding to see his father if he were in my position,_ Draco told himself. _Why can’t I be brave? Why can’t I just get up and do this?_ Draco pinched his eyes closed. He needed to go. He needed to see his father. 

After probably ten or fifteen more minutes telling himself he needed to get up, he finally did. Taking several deep breaths, Draco made his way across his room and went downstairs to the basement. He marched over to the fireplace, took a handful of powder from the jar on the mantle, and stepped in. He called out his destination and tossed the powder down. Green flames rose up around him and he was compressed and pulled until he found himself inside the Ministry Floo room. Draco hadn’t been sure it would actually work for him, but since Harry used it to get to work every morning there was a strong possibility. At that point, though, he wasn’t sure whether or not it was a good thing. 

It took Draco a while to find the service desk, as he didn’t know where it was in relation to the Floo room. Once he did find it, he found his pace slowing in his approach.

“Good afternoon,” said the portly man behind the desk. This was the same man who’d handled his release forms after his second arrest. Edgar was his name, if Draco could remember correctly. “What can I do for you?” He didn’t even bother looking up at Draco, yet again.

“I’d like to visit a prisoner in Azkaban,” Draco said quietly, fearfully.

“Inmate number?” the man asked wearily. 

“I don’t know. His name is Lucius Malfoy.” The man looked up at Draco for the first time.

“He’s on the restricted list. Are you of relation?” 

“I’m his son.” If Draco had ever felt shame about being the son of Lucius Malfoy before, it was paled in comparison to how ashamed he felt now. The service desk man narrowed his eyes at Draco, a frown that emitted nothing but repulsion twisted his mouth. 

“Should’ve figured. You Malfoys all look the same. Probably due to all the inbreeding you purebloods get on with.”

“E-excuse me?” Draco swore his ears deceived him. There was no way a Ministry employee was allowed to talk to people in such a way. Draco’s pride swelled in his chest as he sharpened his tongue mentally.

“You heard me. All you _bloody_ Malfoys are the same. It’s a shame they let you out, really. Your lot shouldn’t be permitted to go round in public. You should be in a cell right next to your father, if you ask me.”

“Nobody _did_ ask you, you fat, worthless━” Draco stopped himself from continuing and ending that sentence. He was better than this now. He was better because Harry had made him better, and he wasn’t about to stoop as low as this mingebag. 

It was probably a good thing that Draco did stop then, because as soon as he’d uttered the word ‘worthless’ the fat man behind the desk called out for security. Draco began running, sprinting through the Ministry back to the Floo room. He didn’t dare look behind him; he could feel and hear the people chasing him down the long corridors. 

“Come back here!”

 

“Halt!”

“The Ministry demands you stop and state your business!”

Draco didn’t listen, but continued running until he thought his lungs might give out. His long walk the day before was not helping. His legs were practically begging for him to fall over and let the guards arrest him. Instead he shoved the heavy Floo room doors open, ran to the nearest fireplace, and barely paused before he called out for number 12 Grimmauld Place. 

As soon as he stepped into the kitchen he cast the most powerful ward he knew on the hearth in the hopes that the guards hadn’t heard him shout the address. A throat cleared behind him. Draco whirled around, still in a panic, and breathed in relief when he saw Harry sitting at the table, eating a sandwich. 

“You’re back early,” Draco said, breathless. He immediately went to the closest stool and sat down heavily. 

“You’re out of breath. What happened?” 

“Oh, you know, I was just chased out of the Ministry by angry security guards,” he said casually. “Just another day in the life of Draco.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You were what?” Harry set his sandwich down. 

“Chased out of the Ministry. By security guards.”

“How in the bloody hell did that happen? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, just need to catch my breath.”

“What happened, Draco?”

“I _may_ have called the service desk man fat and worthless.” 

“You’re fucking serious, aren’t you?”

Both their heads turned as the hearth flared to life with green flames. Draco’s heart nearly stopped in his chest. At a speed he didn’t know he could move, he scrambled out of his stool, took his wand from his sleeve, and braced himself for battle. The green flames shot up once, flickered, and died. No one appeared in the fireplace. Draco breathed a sigh of relief and eyed the fireplace suspiciously as he sat back down.

“At least my ward held…” 

“You cast a ward on our Floo? Jesus, Draco, what happened?”

“I was just trying to visit Father!” Draco exclaimed. “I went up to the service desk and that… that _pig_ of a man was there. I asked if I could visit my father and he told me he’s on the restricted list, then asked if I was family. When I told him I was the son of Lucius Malfoy he started spouting all this shite about how I should still be locked up and our lot shouldn’t be allowed in society. He called us inbred. I started defending myself and got those two insults out before I realised I was just digging my own grave.”

“I’m not saying that what you did was uncalled for, but had you handled that differently we could’ve finally gotten him fired,” Harry said calmly. “I can’t believe he━ no, I _can_ believe he said that. He’s really a piece of work, Edgar is. Not a single one of us Aurors can stand him. Laziest sod I ever met.”

“So you’re not mad, then?”

“Why would I be mad? He probably deserved those insults and then some. I’m surprised you didn’t say more than that.” Draco laughed without humour.

“If I’d stayed any longer to insult him I would’ve been arrested again.”

“Then I’m glad you didn’t. It’s bad enough that I’m dating a hardened criminal, I’d really prefer not to be dating a convicted criminal.” Harry was obviously joking, but Draco rolled his eyes anyway. 

“You already are; I’ve been convicted of lots of crimes. I guess that makes you something of a bad boy, doesn’t it?”

“It absolutely does. Perfect Potter lives no more, here comes Hardcore Harry.” Draco burst out laughing at that.

“You’re a git.”

“Says the one who nearly got arrested— _again_ ,” Harry fired back with a smile. The two of them sat chuckling and insulting each other playfully for a while before Draco remembered that Harry had visited with Andromeda that day.

“How’d your visit go? Did you get to see Teddy?” Draco noticed that Harry’s cheeks were tinged pink at his question. “It didn’t go badly, did it?”

“No, actually, it went really well. Andromeda and I talked for a while and I got to hold, feed, and burp Teddy. He even puked on me. It was great.” Harry had this far-away look on his face, like he was picturing himself somewhere else as he spoke. 

“You’re not in love with my aunt, are you?” Draco asked teasingly.

“Er, no…” Harry’s eyes snapped back to Draco’s and he had a look of slight disapproval and confusion on his face. “But I think Teddy has won me over.”

“How do you burp a baby? And you can’t honestly tell me it was great, getting puked on.”

“No, it wasn’t great getting puked on, but it wasn’t all that bad, either. It didn’t smell bad like ours smells. Sort of smelled a bit like sour milk, but sweeter. And you burp a baby by patting their back after they eat until the air bubbles come up.”

“Okay, that’s just odd. I don’t really need to know what baby vomit smells like.” Draco shook his head. “What did you two talk about?”

“Nothing, Teddy doesn’t talk yet, he’s too young.”

“Really? You know what I mean.” Draco couldn’t tell if Harry was just trying to joke around, or if he was hiding something. He knew that Harry’s blush at the beginning of their topic had to mean something, and the way he was skirting around the topic of his and Andromeda’s conversation didn’t help much.

“You’re going to be upset,” Harry said. So he was hiding something. 

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“We talked about you, mostly. About how different you are than what she thought. When she explained her thoughts on you I explained who you really are. She feels really guilty.” Draco stared at Harry, unsure of what to say. They’d talked about him, presumably for the majority of their conversation, from the sounds of it. That didn’t exactly sit well with Draco, even if Harry did clear things up. 

“So, what, she wants to act like family now?” he said. Even he could hear the sass in his question.

“Don’t be like that,” Harry admonished. “Can you really blame her? I mean, not too long ago I was in a pretty similar position as her, when it came to my opinion of you.”

“Right.” That didn’t make Draco feel any better at all. “I’m glad everyone thinks so highly of me. Feels wonderful.”

“She just needs to get to know you, Draco. The real you, not the one your parents made you out to be, or the person you had to pretend to be. Just from what I told her today, I could tell she really felt bad about not inviting you. She called herself an idiot.”

“You basically guilt-tripped her into giving me a chance.”

“If that’s how you want to see it, fine. If I were you, I would stop taking this so personally and appreciate the fact that you now have the opportunity to get closer to one of your family members. She’s the last family member you have, as far as I know, who is genuinely a good person and cares about you.”

“She has an interesting way of showing it.” Why he was so intent on feeling spiteful, he didn’t know. Harry was right, he should take this as an opportunity.

“I think her way of showing it will get better in time. You just have to be open to it.” Draco nodded his head slowly. “Will you please give her a chance?”

“I’ll need to think about it.”

“That’s understandable. I’m going to try and go see them next weekend. If you want to come with me you can. Andromeda said━” Harry cut himself off suddenly.

“What did she say? You can’t just leave it there, tell me.”

“I’m not sure I should. She wants to tell you herself.”

“Tell me what? Why can’t _you_ just tell me?”

“It’ll mean more coming from her, trust me. No matter how much you beg I’m not telling you.” Harry looked as though he meant it, but Draco had an idea of how he could get Harry to tell him.

Draco moved from his stool to stand by Harry. With his hands he tilted Harry’s face up and didn’t hesitate before kissing him heatedly. Unlike the kisses they’d shared the previous day, this one had a fire behind it that took no kindling to start. Draco felt Harry tense and then relax in almost the same instant, along with hands pressing against his back. Harry pulled him closer, which Draco took as his signal to bring the kiss further. His lips left Harry’s and moved down to his jaw where he gently sucked on the edge. Harry’s sharp inhale nearly broke Draco’s concentration, but he was determined.

“Please?” Draco whispered before he moved his lips lower, down Harry’s throat. Harry’s fingers dug into Draco’s back and he knew that this would get him his way. In his excitement, Draco’s hands moved to Harry’s hair and tangled there, pulling a bit harder than he meant to. Harry didn’t seem to mind in the least. After spending several long moments at the column of Harry’s neck, Draco paid some attention to his earlobe. His teeth pulled on the soft, fuzzy flesh, just hard enough for Harry to feel it before he sucked there, too. Draco could hear Harry’s breathing pick up pace. Just a bit longer, a bit more persuasion, and Draco would win him over. 

Nipping and sucking on Harry was having strong effects on Draco, too━ particularly in his lower region━ and soon he pulled away before he felt the urge to take things to a point where Harry would feel uncomfortable. It was obvious he didn’t feel uncomfortable at that moment, but Draco didn’t want to rush into anything regardless. 

Satisfied with himself, Draco leaned his hip against the table’s edge and crossed his arms over his chest. He smirked down at Harry and tried not to get distracted by the red marks he’d left behind on his neck. Draco said nothing, only waited for Harry’s response.

After a few seconds of Harry looking hazily at Draco, he said with a grin, eyebrows raised, “You’re very convincing, but I’m still not telling you.”


	18. Disaster Pending

In the weeks that followed Harry’s first visit to Andromeda’s house things seemed to be going well. He’d gotten closer to Andromeda and started to really feel like family. He also started getting more comfortable around Teddy. On the weekends Harry would visit at least once, if not twice, just to get more time with his godson. If Harry had any doubt in his mind that Teddy loved him, it was erased with every single smile, coo, and giggle the infant sent his way. Andromeda even remarked on how well Teddy did with Harry. She had said that Teddy was typically apprehensive about being held by anyone but her, but with Harry it was different from the start. It made Harry’s heart feel swollen with pride and happiness just to hear her say it. 

Twice Andromeda had asked Harry to babysit Teddy while she went out, and Harry was always willing to help give her some time for herself. There was a day when Andromeda had started crying and told Harry how stressful it all was, sometimes. 

“I love Teddy with all my heart, you know, but I’m doing this all on my own,” she’d said with tears streaking her cheeks. As sad as she looked, her voice never wavered. That was when Harry realised just how strong she was. “I have no time for me, I have no time to relax. I wouldn’t trade him for the world, but I miss being able to go grocery shopping on my own, or visiting friends, or getting a good night’s sleep.” 

After hearing that, Harry had done his best to give Andromeda time for herself and extended his availability to some weekday evenings. Sometimes when he would visit he would simply lay on the sitting room or nursery floor, playing with Teddy, while Andromeda took a long shower or a nap. She would thank him profusely every time, but Harry got just as much out of it as she did, in his mind. There was little else Harry enjoyed as much as seeing Teddy happy, watching his hair change based on his mood, the funny faces he would make, the sounds that accompanied those faces, and everything else that went with being with Teddy. 

Harry and Draco’s relationship was at a sort of standstill. While they had their regular snogging sessions and had even moved on to heavy petting, they didn’t have much time for each other. At least, Harry didn’t have much time for Draco. It was obvious that Draco was feeling unhappy about that, too, but Harry didn’t know what to do to fix it. Draco still refused to visit Andromeda, even after she’d sent the letter inviting him to come and apologizing for not having done so before. He felt that he needed time to heal himself after all that had happened with his mother and all that hadn’t happened with his aunt. Harry understood, but he still asked if Draco wanted to come with him every time he went to see her and Teddy. Draco would contemplate it for a bit and decline, every time, without fail. Thus, Harry was at a loss. If Draco would go with him they would get more time together, and Harry really thought it would be good for him to spend time with Teddy. When Harry would leave Andromeda’s house after hours of playing with Teddy and talking with her, he felt fulfilled, satisfied, like he’d done something productive. He wished Draco would be able to experience that feeling, too, but Draco still wasn’t sure things would go as well as Harry thought they would. 

On top of Draco feeling like he and Harry didn’t get enough time together, Harry noticed that he was getting jealous of all the time he spent with Teddy. 

“It’s like all you ever want to do anymore is see that baby,” Draco had said one day. “He’s practically all you talk about.”

Harry had admitted that Draco was right and tried to amend his actions, but Teddy did take up his thoughts more often than not. Harry had made a pact with himself and wanted to spend as much time with Teddy as he could, so he wasn’t willing to give up his weekends with him at the very least. When he’d explained the reason behind his visits with Teddy━ that he wanted to be an influence on him, be there for him, watch him grow, know him, and make things different than they were between himself and Sirius━ Draco finally seemed to understand, and surprisingly agreed to go with Harry the next time. 

They were ready to leave for Andromeda’s house. Harry was about to toss in the Floo powder when Draco’s hand grasped his arm firmly.

“Wait,” Draco said, sounding afraid. 

“If you’re about to back out I don’t want to hear it,” Harry said, sounding more impatient than he really felt.

“No, but what if she doesn’t actually want to see me?” Draco’s eyebrows were slanted upward in the centre and he looked genuinely nervous. Harry placed his hand on Draco’s arm gently and looked at him with certainty.

“She will, I promise, now let’s go.” 

Harry threw down the powder and called out Andromeda’s address after tugging Draco in with him. They stepped into the sitting room in Andromeda’s house, which was empty of her or Teddy.

“I’ll be down in a minute!” Andromeda called from upstairs.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Harry,” Draco whispered fervently. 

“Too late.” 

Harry didn’t mean to be rude or inconsiderate of Draco’s feelings, but it really was too late. He hadn’t told Andromeda that Draco was coming, but Harry knew for a fact that if Draco backed out at this point he would probably find a reason to stay behind every time from here on out. That was not something Harry wanted to see happen, and so he held Draco’s hand in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. He heard Draco taking shallow breaths of air and squeezed his hand once in reassurance.

Andromeda came down the stairs with Teddy on her chest, looking over her shoulder and said, “I’m glad you could make it, Harry. I hate to do this to you, but would you mind watching Teddy while I━” She halted at the foot of the stairs when her eyes fell on Draco. He was standing half behind Harry, holding his hand so tightly that Harry was beginning to lose circulation. 

“He finally agreed to come,” Harry said with an uncomfortable grin as he tried to loosen Draco’s grip on him a bit. Andromeda’s face lit up in a smile and she walked over to meet them by the fireplace.

“I’m glad you did, Draco,” she said sweetly. Harry could see she meant it. “I’d hoped you’d come sooner, but I can see why you didn’t feel like it.”

“Here, let me take Teddy. I’ll take him up to his nursery,” Harry said as he reached for the chubby infant. He wanted Draco and Andromeda to actually talk to each other, and while he was curious about what they’d say, or whether they’d work out their past differences, but he knew that this was something Draco needed to do on his own. Andromeda had been wanting Draco to come over for a while and it wouldn’t take Draco long, hopefully, to see that he had nothing to fear where she was concerned. 

“That would be so nice, Harry. I’d planned on going to market, but it can wait.” Andromeda gladly handed Teddy to Harry, who kissed his soft cheek multiple times before settling him in the crook of his arm.

“Look, Teddy,” Harry said, turning to face Draco. “It’s your cousin, Draco. Say hi!” Teddy did not. Teddy gave a large, toothless grin and reached his arms out as if he wanted Draco to hold him.

“Hi, Teddy,” Draco said slowly, clearly just as unsure about how to talk to babies as Harry had been at first. 

“Alright, you two have fun.” Harry gave Draco an encouraging smile and went up the stairs to Teddy’s nursery. “ _We’re_ going to have fun even if they don’t, aren’t we, Teddy?” he asked playfully. Teddy blew a spit bubble. 

Harry put Teddy down on his tummy on the floor and went to the toy chest near his crib. Taking a couple finger puppets from the chest he slipped them on his fingers and went to sit in front of Teddy. 

 

<>

 

“Shall I put the kettle on?” Andromeda asked cautiously. Draco nodded stiffly, unable to trust his voice, and followed her to the kitchen. “Go ahead and sit down, get comfortable.” 

“Thanks,” he said quietly as he sat down. 

Damn Harry for taking Teddy upstairs, leaving him here to deal with his aunt alone. The knot in Draco’s stomach was building and amplifying with every passing second. He wished Harry were there to help him feel more comfortable, but Harry seemed to think that Draco and his aunt needed some alone-together time. _Perhaps he’s right, though,_ Draco considered. _It’s not like I need Harry here at every difficult moment, protecting me from things I can surely deal with on my own._ He decided that he would be able to do this, with or without Harry, because this was something _he’d_ wanted to do. _He_ was the one who’d decided it was time to be brave and confront the mystery that was his aunt. 

Draco watched Andromeda fuss over the tea making process and noticed that her hands trembled slightly as she poured loose tea leaves into the kettle. Seeing that she was nervous as well eased the knot inside him a bit, but it was still there, still making him queasy. 

“That shouldn’t take much longer,” she said as she sat down across from Draco. Her face had a warmth to it that he couldn’t recall from childhood, but seeing it loosened the knot in his stomach further. “I suppose Harry’s point in taking Teddy upstairs was so that you and I could talk.”

“I’m sure it was,” Draco agreed. “I’m not sure what’s left to say. How much did Harry tell you about me?” Andromeda looked down at her hands on the table and blushed. Draco noticed she still wore her wedding ring and realised that it really hadn’t been very long since her husband passed. He wondered how it was for her, dealing with the deaths of her husband and daughter, along with raising her daughter’s orphaned son. It probably wasn’t easy to do, and it made him feel slightly warmer toward her imagining that she was going through her own hardships just like he was. 

“Probably more than you’d want him to,” she admitted, sounding guilty. “But I’d like to hear things from you, if that’s alright. That is, if you’re okay with telling me.” Draco shrugged. He knew that Harry had been talking about him to Andromeda. It didn’t really upset him, but it made this conversation seem more pointless.

“I don’t see why not. What do you want to know?” He figured that putting the ball in her court might make things go more smoothly. Andromeda seemed to hesitate before vocalising whatever thought was on her mind. Twice, she opened her mouth as though to speak only to close it again. Draco wondered what was on her mind and hoped she wouldn’t feel the need to walk on eggshells with him. 

“Why didn’t you come sooner?” she asked finally. There was a sadness in her voice that Draco had not expected to hear. He felt guilt replace the knot in his stomach. That had not been the question he’d been expecting her to ask, though he wasn’t sure what she’d say in general. Certainly not that. 

“I didn’t think… you’d actually want to see me.” Deciding that honesty would get him further with her, and not seeing a point to hiding the fact, he answered her unexpected question hesitantly.

“Draco, why ever not? I invited you here not because I felt I had to, but because I wanted to. You’re my only nephew, and from the sounds of it, the only remaining member of my family with a decent head on their shoulders.” 

Hearing that made Draco feel even worse for not having come sooner, but also better because she considered him level-headed. He hadn’t expected her to have any kind things to say about him after all that she must have thought of him in the past. It wasn’t as though they had seen much of each other over the years, and he was sure she’d heard nothing but negative things about him. Draco supposed he had Harry to thank for anything positive she had to say about him, or thought about him. 

“Everyone thinks I’m a terrible person because of… everything my parents and I did.” He didn’t feel it was necessary to elaborate on that. Everyone knew what the Malfoys had done. It wasn’t a mystery. “I’m just a Death Eater, in their eyes, even though I didn’t want that for myself. It’s really hard not to feel isolated and cast out when the whole of magical society sees you as a villain.” Why he was telling her all of this, he couldn’t say. Though he was normally closed off from people he didn’t know well, he knew that if they were going to bridge over the gap between them he would need to be open and honest with her, like he’d decided to a bit ago. The way she was looking at him with no judgement, no pity, no revulsion, made him feel like he could tell her anything. 

“I want you to know that I don’t feel that way,” Andromeda said firmly. “Though I must say that Harry is mostly to blame for that. That boy seems to think the world of you. I’m so glad you two have come together.”

“I am too, though I’m sort of surprised you are.” 

“Well why wouldn’t I be? You seem to make him happy, if the way he talks about you is any clue. Are you happy?”

“As happy as I can be in my situation,” Draco said with raised eyebrows and tight lips. “I’d probably be a lot happier if my mother didn’t have some secret plot to ruin our lives.”

“Harry told me about that,” Andromeda said disapprovingly. “I don’t understand why she can’t just let it go. Why should it matter that you and Harry are in a relationship?” She scoffed. “I would’ve thought that, with Harry’s reputation, she’d be glad you two were together. You know how much she loves to keep up appearances.”

“Don’t I just,” Draco chuckled. He probably knew better than anyone else. “I understand _why_ she doesn’t want us together. She’s struggled my whole life, and probably before then, to make sure the Malfoy family stayed at the top of the magical society food chain. Being gay is sort of… well, it’s as unacceptable to magical society as kissing Dumbledore is to Death Eaters. My father is in prison because of his alliances, I _was_ in prison because everyone thought I had the same alliances; thus, the Malfoy name has fallen from the top. Add to that that I’m gay, when everyone knows purebloods are meant to carry on the bloodline, and I may as well have put the Malfoy name in one of Teddy’s soiled nappies.” Andromeda sputtered and began laughing loudly.

As much as she looked like her sister Bellatrix, and as uncomfortable as that made him subconsciously, when she laughed it was obvious they were two entirely different people. Draco remembered hearing his Aunt Bella laugh. When she did, it was a dead giveaway that someone was being tortured or killed. There wasn’t much else that brought her joy, aside from Voldemort’s affection and that wasn’t cause for laughter. When Andromeda laughed it was the complete opposite; Draco could see that there was no meanness in her thick chortles, no harshness in her face. Only love and happiness, something Draco had not seen on the faces of his family in a very long time. It was refreshing, and it made him feel at home. It also made him wish he’d seen more of that sort of joy in his childhood home. 

“You have such a way with words, Draco,” Andromeda said as she wiped tears from her eyes. “Since you put it that way, I guess I can see where she’s coming from. _But_ that doesn’t mean I agree with her, so wipe that look right off your face, dear.” Draco did just that. He hadn’t realised he’d had an expression of outrage on his face until she told him to get rid of it. It was easy for him to fall back into the thought that she didn’t like him. That’s how it had been for years. Draco reminded himself that this was not the Andromeda his parents thought she was, or who he’d thought she was. And he was not the Draco that everyone else thought he was. 

“Sorry, I thought you were going to agree with her for a moment there,” he said with a nervous chuckle. “I’m glad you don’t.”

“I don’t see the logic behind her decisions, though I can see why she feels the way she does, being who she is. The person she’s become in life is the main reason she and I haven’t been very close.”

“Then why did you let her stay here?” Since Harry wanted them to talk, Draco didn’t shy away from asking the question. It was one he wanted an answer to, one he had stewed over in his mind for a long time. If he didn’t ask her now he wasn’t sure he would get another chance, and he needed to know. 

“Because, in the end... she is my sister, whatever else she may be.” She seemed to have contemplated the answer, as if she wasn’t completely sure of it herself until it had been spoken. “I would hope that if I found myself in a similar situation to her she would offer me sanctuary, too. Even if she wouldn’t, I suppose that’s the difference between us.” Andromeda shrugged, but Draco could tell that the thought bothered her. The crease in her forehead that hadn’t been there before was the first clue, and second to that was the obvious sadness in her eyes. Draco could say for certain that his mother would most likely not do the same for her, but he had another thought that he needed to express instead. 

“Then… why wasn’t I welcome to stay? Mother said there wasn’t enough room here for me. Was that the reason?” Draco didn’t know why he thought it might not be the real reason, but something told him there was more to the story. He wasn’t sure he really wanted to know the answer, but it was important to him regardless. Seeing the look of guilt on Andromeda’s face told him that he likely would not appreciate the answer she gave him. 

“No, not really.” Andromeda let out a lengthy sigh at the same time that the kettle began whistling loudly on the stove. She jumped as though she’d forgotten she was making tea. Shooting Draco an embarrassed look she stood up from her chair and took the kettle off the stove, then poured them each two cups. 

“Then what was the real reason I couldn’t stay here?” Andromeda set the kettle down and placed her hands on the counter, lowering her head in what appeared to be shame. She faced away from Draco when she replied. 

“Please don’t be upset,” she said softly.

“I can’t promise that I won’t; I don’t know what you’ll tell me.” It was an honest answer, and he hoped she would give him the same.

Turning around and bringing two steaming mugs of tea with her, Andromeda said, “Your mother said that… you were not trustworthy.” Andromeda would not look Draco in the eyes as she spoke. “She said that you could pose as a threat to myself and Teddy, seeing as I married a muggleborn.” Draco felt rage bubbling inside him as she explained. 

He was glad he hadn’t promised not to get upset, because he would’ve broken that promise instantly. How was he meant to react to something like that? How could his mother say something so untrue about him? He didn’t know Teddy or Andromeda very well, but he never would’ve tried to _hurt_ them! Along with Draco’s rage came indignation and he felt his nails digging painfully into the flesh of his palms. 

“Why?”  
“I’m not sure I understand your question,” Andromeda said softly. She finally looked up at Draco. Her eyes were searching his for something. What she hoped to find was unknown to him, but Draco thought that regardless of what she was looking for all she would find was aggravation.

“Why did she tell you that? She knew I would wind up homeless, didn’t she? She should’ve known that this would happen, that I wouldn’t be accepted anywhere else. So why did she say that?” His teeth remained clenched as he spoke, his vehemence growing with every word.

“Draco, I’m sure she didn’t know. How could she have possibly? Your mother has a very strange way of doing things, but I’m sure she had your best interest at heart.” Draco wanted to argue, wanted to scream, but couldn’t find the words to express his intense emotions. “Even with the blackmail. I know it may not seem like it, but I also know my sister well enough to say that she’s doing this because she thinks it’s what’s best for you.”

“It isn’t! She’s _never_ known what’s best for me!”

“Draco.” Andromeda’s tone was a mixture of pleading and disapproval. “I may not agree with the way your mother does things, but I know she loves you and I know she does care what happens to you.”

“ _You’re wrong,_ ” Draco said forcefully. He’d stopped shouting, but he was still seething. “Is that the way a mother shows her love? By ensuring that her only son has no place to go when he’s released from prison? By threatening to ruin her son’s life━ and his partner’s life━ because of a disagreement over lifestyles? Is that love? Telling Harry that if I fall from grace she’ll drag him down with me?” Draco laughed a cold, hard laugh. “That’s not love. That’s manipulation, it’s _selfish_ , it’s━”

“If she didn’t care, why would she bother with trying to blackmail you?” Andromeda cut him off, but her tone was soothing. “The difference between loving and being uncaring is this: when a person does not care they will not wish to change the things you do, say, and think. When a person loves you they will do everything in their power to ensure that you are taken care of━ even if those things aren’t what’s going to make you happy, or good for you. Your mother loves you, she just hasn’t got the tools to show you properly. She was taught to love incorrectly and is repeating that with you.” Draco let the idea sink in for a moment before responding, but it still didn’t quite latch.

“That makes no sense.” 

“Doesn’t it? Draco, if your mother did not care _for_ you she wouldn’t care what _happened_ to you. She wouldn’t be trying to bring you home or protect you from the opinions and thoughts of society.” Andromeda sighed yet again. “She’s doing it the wrong way, of course, but that’s _why_ she’s doing it. Because she loves you.” 

Draco took a long sip from the mug before him. Part of him knew that his aunt was correct, but the stubborn, prideful part of him refused to admit it. With how wrong his mother was, how carelessly he thought she was acting, he couldn’t give her any leeway. What if he _was_ doing wrong? What if, by being his own person, he was hurting his mother? There could be no room for that in his heart. He wouldn’t let that be the case. He wasn’t sure what he would do if that were true.

“I think you’re doing the right thing, standing up for yourself,” Andromeda said. Draco’s eyes snapped up to meet hers as he swallowed his tea. “Perhaps that will help her realise what she’s doing is harmful to your relationship with her. I wish she could see that she’s only pushing you further away.”

“Yeah.” Draco didn’t have much else to say in response to that. He wished the same, but he doubted that things would change. His mother was too stuck in her ways. His father’s vision for their future was too far ingrained in her mind. 

“Let’s move on to something less… depressing,” Andromeda suggested. She sipped her tea and asked, “So how are things at home?”

“Very boring,” Draco said, glad of the change of pace, but unsure that topic was less depressing by too much. He rubbed his face as emotional exhaustion replaced the intense feelings he was having not very long ago. “Harry works constantly, and when he’s not at work he’s here. I’m pretty much alone all the time.” Andromeda looked worried.

“That’s no life at all,” she said, shaking her head. “What could you do to make things easier? Is there anything _I_ can do?”

“I thought about getting a job, but I can’t think of one place that will hire me. I’m not welcome in magical society and I don’t have the muggle credentials to get a muggle job. Sometimes I take walks to pass the time, but that’s getting a bit boring. I’ve been working out, trying to keep myself healthy. That’s gotten boring too. I don’t have a cello, so I have pent up musical energy. I don’t see how you could help with that.” 

“Hmm. Perhaps you could help me? I could pay you to do things around the house. There’s so much I can’t get done with a baby on my hip constantly. His naps are the only free time I have, and when Harry visits, but even then I only get a done fraction of the things I have to do.” She paused before saying, “Since Ted is gone I don’t have a partner to help me with household chores and shopping.”

“I couldn’t ask you to pay me for that,” Draco said, waving his hands. “That wouldn’t be right.”

“Your help would be invaluable. Of course I’ll pay you. Do we have a deal? You help me with things around here, maybe babysit when Harry’s busy, and that’ll free up some evenings for you and Harry.”

“That does sound nice,” Draco mused. “I’ll do it.”

“Excellent! Oh, you don’t know how wonderful this is!” Andromeda clapped her hands together and grinned hugely. “How does five galleons per hour sound?”

“T-that’s… fine!” Draco didn’t know how much a typical job paid, as he’d never had one, but that was more than he’d expected. 

“Are you sure? I can pay you more. Is that enough?”

“That’s more than enough— please. Don’t worry about it. I’d be glad to help you for free just to get out of the house once in a while.”

“Hey, how’s everything going?” Harry came walking into the kitchen with Teddy on his chest and sat down beside Draco. 

“Really well,” Andromeda replied happily. “Draco just agreed to help me with things around the house. He’s now gainfully employed!”

“Wow, Draco!” Harry rubbed Draco’s shoulder affectionately with his free hand. “That’s really good to hear. I’m glad you two have been able to work things out so easily.”

“Me too,” Draco said with a small smile. 

“Haaaaa!” Teddy said loudly. All three adults laughed at the sudden outburst from the baby. 

“Seems like Teddy agrees,” Andromeda said, still chuckling lightly. “Draco, would you like to hold him?” Draco looked over at Teddy, who was gumming Harry’s shoulder and had created a large wet spot there.

“Do I have to let him chew on me if I do?” Both Andromeda and Harry snickered at what Draco thought was a reasonable question.

“No, I think he’ll be fine without using you as a teether.” Andromeda took her tea and stood up. “Let’s go to the sitting room, it’s much more comfortable there.” Harry and Draco followed her into the sitting room and sat together on the loveseat across from the hearth. 

“How do I do this?” Draco asked, suddenly feeling very clueless and unprepared.

“Just support his neck a bit━ here, let me show you.” Harry took Teddy from his shoulder and positioned Draco’s arm so that Teddy could lounge in the curve of it. “Like that. Once you get more comfortable with him you’ll find other ways to hold him, too, but this is a good place to start.”

“Thanks,” Draco said, shooting Harry a grateful smile. He looked down at the infant in his arms, the messy thatch of black hair sprouting from his head, the tiny lips and large brown eyes that looked back up at him. “Hello, Teddy,” Draco said sweetly, his discomfort slowly fading.

With his thumb Draco stroked Teddy’s chubby cheeks and was astounded at how soft they were. Teddy’s miniscule fist wrapped around Draco’s thumb and squeezed tightly. Draco’s heart seemed to be constricted at the same time as his finger and tears sprung to his eyes. Teddy was just so perfect, so innocent, so pure. Teddy was everything that Draco wasn’t, and he envied him for that, but more than he envied him, he found that he felt… proud. Draco felt proud that this was his family. 

“Are you alright, Draco?” Harry asked from beside him. 

Draco did not look up at Harry, and, keeping his eyes locked with Teddy’s, said, “Never been better.”

It was obvious to Draco, now, why Harry had been spending every spare moment over here. Draco kicked himself mentally for not coming with him sooner. How had he taken so long to meet this tiny human? Why had he been so stubborn? All this time he had been sitting at home sulking alone when he could’ve been here, basking in the surprisingly rapt attention of Teddy’s loving gaze. 

Draco spent the rest of the evening at Andromeda’s holding Teddy’s hand, staring into his perceptive eyes, listening to the noises Teddy made, the things he had to say. Of course, Draco couldn’t understand any of it, but Teddy did have quite a lot to say. Before he and Harry left he even got to feed Teddy, and he learned how to burp him. Harry exclaimed in mock indignation at the fact that Teddy hadn’t spit up on Draco and Andromeda got a picture of Harry, Draco, and Teddy sitting together for the baby book. 

Since Draco had come to live with Harry he had never felt so welcome, so loved, so comfortable. Whatever the future held, Draco vowed to never let this go. No matter what his mother threw at him, he knew that he had a place in this world, even if the only people he belonged to were the three other people in that sitting room. It wasn’t much, but it was more than enough for Draco. 

 

<>

 

That evening at home Harry noticed that Draco was very introspective. Several times he’d attempted to strike up a conversation with his silent partner and failed. Draco’s eyes gave away that he was in some far away place thinking over things. While Harry was incredibly curious as to what he could be thinking about so deeply, he knew that pushing Draco to tell him was not the proper way to get that information. He was pretty sure that Draco would tell him eventually, he just hoped it wasn’t something stressful. 

The two of them ate dinner together, then Harry practiced the piano a bit━ strictly out of boredom, and not very well at all━ while Draco sat on one of the sofas in the drawing room, still deep in thought. Once the night had really set in and both of them had no reason to stay up, they went to their beds. It didn’t take Harry long to fall asleep; things were going very well in his life and his anxiety had been reduced tremendously. Draco had seemed absolutely taken by Teddy and things appeared to be friendly enough between him and Andromeda. It gave Harry hope for the future. 

 

<>

 

It was difficult for Harry to remember the last time he’d actually slept in, but the following morning he didn’t come to until the sun was streaming brightly through his bedroom curtain. Reaching his arms above his head until his knuckles found the drywall, Harry stretched and yawned. His legs lengthened as he stretched those, too, until they bumped into something at the end of his bed. Cracking one eye open Harry was confused to see Draco sitting at the end of his bed. 

“G’morning,” Harry said groggily. His eyes were still adjusting, but he could tell Draco had something serious on his mind. He wasn’t yet awake enough to know how to deal with seriousness, but he sat up anyway and put his specs on. 

“Morning,” Draco replied in a strange tone. 

“Is everything alright?” Harry punctuated his question with another large yawn. 

“Not exactly.” He was looking down at his lap, sitting on his hands. There was a blank look on his face and Harry had no idea what it could mean.

“Well… do you want to fill me in?”

“Molly and Weaselbee are in the drawing room.”


	19. One Good Turn Deserves Another

“ _What?!_ ” Harry jumped out of bed. “When did they get here?”

“Nearly an hour ago.”

“And you didn’t think to _wake me up?_ ” In his panic he rushed to get dressed, not caring if Draco saw him in his pants. 

“Well, I thought at first that you had invited them over, but—” Draco started. 

“All the more reason to wake me up!” Harry shouted. He frantically rummaged through his dresser, tossing out an outfit at radom. He dressed hurriedly, not at all paying attention to what he put on. 

“I _really_ wasn’t planning on seeing Ron today,” Harry said, more to himself than to Draco.

“Well, seeing as you’ve just woken up, I don’t think you were planning on much of anything,” Draco responded snidely. Harry threw him the dirtiest glance he could muster before pulling on his trainers, tying them haphazardly, and hurrying out of the room. Before he had made it more than a couple feet, however, Draco grabbed at his arm and pulled him back.

“They’re in the drawing room, just so you know. It’s going to be alright,” he said with a swift peck on Harry’s cheek. “No matter what happens I’ll be there with you. If I have to go back to prison for beating the shite out of a red headed arsehole I will.”

Harry rolled his eyes, though he did appreciate the gesture. “I don’t think it’ll go that badly.” He paused and contemplated. “At least, I hope not.”

They went down the stairs to the sitting room and paused outside of the closed doors. Harry braced himself; he knew this was not going to be a good conversation. Now that his brain had began functioning more he furrowed his brows. Why wasn’t Ron at school? Had something bad happened? If Ron wasn’t at school, where was Hermione? Of all places, why had he decided to show up here? In truth, Harry hadn’t thought much about Ron since the letter he’d sent to inform Harry that he wasn’t his friend any longer. 

“Are you going in?” Draco asked from beside him, bringing Harry back to earth.

“Right.” Harry took a deep breath in and let it out between his teeth. 

Pushing one of the doors open, Harry entered the drawing room and immediately saw Ron stand up from the sofa. They stood there for a moment, just staring at each other. Molly stood up, and only then did Harry notice her on the sofa next to where Ron had been. 

“Sit down, Ronald,” Molly stage whispered. Ron shook her hand off his shoulder and remained standing. Harry noticed that Ron had a slightly confrontational look on his face.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asked once he finally found his voice. It was more rude than he had intended, but then again he didn't exactly have a reason to be nice. 

“Harry, won’t you sit down?” Molly asked, sounding nervous. Harry stayed where he was. He wasn’t going to sit if Ron wasn’t. He felt Draco’s hand rest on his shoulder, but wasn’t sure what it was supposed to mean. 

“This was all her idea,” Ron said, gesturing with his head towards Molly. Although he said it to Harry, his gaze remained firmly set on the floor just in front of where Harry stood.

“You stop it now,” Molly reprimanded. “Both of you just calm down and sit. You have a lot to talk about, you’re too close of friends to let something as petty as who’s seeing who come between that.” Molly moved across the room to stand near Harry. “Draco, why don’t we go and fetch some tea?” 

“I should probably stay here with Harry,” Draco said with hesitation. Harry knew that she wanted to leave him and Ron alone, but was highly resistant to letting her get her way in the matter. He wasn’t keen on facing a hotheaded Ron on his own and appreciated that Draco seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

“I really think we ought to get some tea,” Molly pressed. 

Harry wasn’t looking at her, but he could clearly visualise the intimidating look on her face. Sure enough, within a few seconds Harry was alone with Ron, who seemed content to examine anything about the room except for the only other person in it. Neither moved. The seconds stretched on, and the tension was nearly tangible before either party spoke.

“So… Mum dragged you over to try and make up, did she?” Harry tried to keep hostility from his words, but having to face Ron with no warning and before even having breakfast was making it very difficult for him to control himself.

“Yeah,” came his short reply. It was a pitiful response, though Harry wasn’t sure what he’d hoped for.

“You couldn’t do it for yourself? Weren’t interested in patching things up?” In spite of himself, Harry sounded almost sad at the notion that Ron hadn’t instigated this. Part of him wanted to let the whole ordeal go. He missed Ron, regardless of how he felt now, but there was the simple fact that Ron had insulted him to an extent that wasn’t easily forgivable. Ron seemed at a loss for words. More silence followed.

When Ron finally did speak Harry was surprised at what he had to say. “Look, I’m just as miffed that she’s having us do this, but there’s no getting out of it. And obviously there’s no point, seeing as you don’t really want to get over this stupid drama.”

“ _I_ don’t want━ _you’re_ the one who started this ‘stupid drama!’” Harry was completely baffled. How could Ron possibly act like this was his doing?

“Yeah? Well I’m not the one who decided it’d be a grand idea to shag a bloody Death Eater!”

“Since you know so much about my private life, why don’t you just fill me in on all the other things I’ve been doing?” Harry wasn’t sure what to be more upset about; the fact that he’d called Draco a Death Eater, or that he’d accused Harry of shagging him when he hadn’t. “I haven’t seen you in months and yet you seem to have it all pegged out, don’t you?”

“Tell me I’m wrong, then, Harry! I saw the fucking paper.”

“Yeah, well I’m sure _they’ve_ got everything straight. Not like the paper has ever been wrong about me before. Besides, when did they ever say anything about that?”

“I saw the damn picture!”

“What picture?” Harry sputtered. He could’ve sworn that he and Draco had never had sex. If they had, Draco must have drugged him or Obliviated him, and Harry was certain Draco had done neither. “As far as I knew, the only picture out there was of us snogging in a muggle mart.”

“Yeah well—” Ron broke off. He stood there stupidly with his mouth hanging open as if he was going to say more, but no words came. Harry took Ron’s silence as an opportunity to set him straight.

“You haven’t heard from me in weeks because of some assumption you had about me and Draco, an assumption that you had no real evidence for. How could you possibly know what’s going on in my life? You’ve spent all this time ‘knowing’ what’s happening without even asking me. So what’s the real problem, Ron? You tell me.”

“He’s still a Death Eater, or did you happen to forget that?”

“You know _nothing_ about him,” Harry gritted through clenched teeth. “You think you know everything, don’t you? Even Hermione, who’s right more often than you’re wrong, was willing to give Draco a chance and hear me out about him. What does that say about you? That you’d be willing to give up your best friend because of some petty disagreement about who I’m dating… that says a lot, to me.”

“I-I didn’t really mean━”

“What? You didn’t mean to say we weren’t friends anymore? Really? Because I still have the letter.”

“I just thought, maybe, if I…” Ron looked utterly lost. “I wanted you to… I don’t know, I didn’t want you to choose him.” 

“What?” Harry didn’t understand. Did Ron really think he’d chosen Draco over him? 

“Ginny, mate.”

“But I thought she was over everything,” Harry said, still bewildered. 

“She probably is, but I’m not. I thought you two would end up marrying and starting a family. I was looking forward to us really being brothers. You’ve always been like a brother to me, but I wanted you to really _be_ my brother.” Ron paused to shake his head sadly. “Prob’ly stupid, I know.”

“That’s not stupid, Ron,” Harry said, feeling more calm than he had earlier. “It wasn’t that I chose Draco. If you’d have asked me when Ginny and I first broke up if I’d rather be with him I would’ve asked if you’d drank too much firewhiskey,” Harry chuckled. His eyes widened as he fully realised what Ron was telling him. “I do think of you as a brother━ a _real_ brother━ and who I’m with won’t change that. I still see you and the rest of the Weasleys as my family. _Nothing_ will change that.” For good measure, he added, “Not even you being an ultimate prat.”

Yet again the two wizards were stuck staring at each other. Ron’s expression had changed from one of stubborn resistance to one of contrition. Harry took a step forward, but stopped. Ron still hadn’t apologised, and until he had Harry didn’t know where they stood. 

“I-I’m really sorry,” Ron began, looking down at his shoes, “for what I said about not wanting to be your friend. I was angry and I wasn’t thinking straight.”

Harry didn’t stop himself this time. He walked over to Ron and hugged him tightly. Even though he’d done his best not to think about Ron since his letter, he missed him. He missed their friendship, their bickering, Ron’s jokes and ridiculous facial expressions. 

“I’m sorry, too,” Harry said near Ron’s shoulder. “I should’ve reacted better, or tried to talk to you more about things. I shouldn’t have just let things go like that.” Ron patted his back and squeezed him a bit.

“I probably would’ve reacted the same, honestly.” The two stepped away from each other and grinned like fools. 

Harry knew that whatever issues they’d had with each other were in the past now. It was really good to see Ron smiling at him, especially because Ron hadn’t been very happy with him during the last leg of his stay at the Burrow. Nobody had been, but it was Ron’s distance and lack of friendliness that had felt the worst out of everyone else’s. 

“So… we’re okay now, right?” Harry asked. He couldn’t help the trepidation in his question. 

“We’re alright,” Ron replied. “Don’t get me wrong, I still don’t like Malfoy, but you and I are fine.”

“I didn’t really expect you to like Draco. I just wanted you to accept my choice to be with him. It’s pretty understandable why you wouldn’t like him and I don’t know if you ever will, but it would be really great if you could give him a chance. You might find that he’s a better person than you think.” Ron made a face that told Harry he wasn’t convinced, but he still had hope. At least now Ron wasn’t hating him along with Draco.

“There’s another reason we came here,” Ron said. He sat down on one of the sofas which Harry took as his que to do the same. Sitting across from each other felt less hostile and awkward. 

“Yeah? Wait, shouldn’t you be in school?” Harry had completely forgotten to ask Ron about school with all of the arguing they’d done. 

“About that,” Ron started. He smirked and tilted his head to the side a bit. “Y’know, I’m starting to think school’s not really my thing.”

“Ron, you can’t just skip class like this and expect to get your N.E.W.Ts completed.”

“I dropped out, actually.” Harry’s jaw dropped, but a slow smile spread across his face as well. A smile that disappeared as soon as he realised what that could mean for Ron and Hermione. “What about Hermione? Is she dropping out, too?”

“Blimey, Harry, the world isn’t upside down,” Ron laughed and rolled his eyes. “Of course she’s not dropping out. She and Ginny went mad when I told them, I swear. Hermione forgave me, in the end, but I think Ginny’s bitter about it. She didn’t really want to go back after she found out you weren’t going.”

“So wait, Hermione’s not threatening you for dropping out? You two didn’t…” 

“No, we’re still together and happy.” Ron grinned hugely, then. “I’m going to ask her to marry me, mate. I just need to save up some money first. Would you be angry at me for being an Auror, too?”

“Actually that would probably make my days go easier, having you there,” Harry said with a grimace. Maybe if he had Ron to distract him from training it wouldn’t be so terrible every day. 

“You don’t look very happy about it, though,” Ron pointed out. “If you don’t want me to work with you it’s fine, I’ll understand.” Though he said it was fine he had a very dejected look on his freckled face. 

“No, it’s not that.” Harry sighed heavily. “Dawlish has been running me ragged lately. Ever since we started training he’s been pushing me harder than the other trainees. Work has been hell.”

“Wait, you’re still going through training? You killed the most powerful dark wizard of our time. Don’t they think that’s enough training?”

“Apparently not.”

The doors to the drawing room opened and Molly bustled in carrying a tray with four mugs on it, Draco in tow. She set the tray down on the coffee table and sat down beside her son. Draco sat down next to Harry.

“Seeing as neither of you is bleeding or missing a limb, things must’ve gone well, then?” Molly asked. There was a small smile playing on her lips and Harry could tell she was proud of herself for making Ron come over to talk to him.

“We worked things out,” Ron said nonchalantly. “No scones?” he asked as he looked down at the tray Molly had brought with her.

“Don’t be a pig, you just ate at home,” Molly snapped halfheartedly. Ron shot a glare at his mother, but took one of the mugs with no further argument.

“I’m a growing boy,” he muttered under his breath. Molly ignored him.

“Draco’s told me you two have been visiting Andromeda and Teddy frequently,” Molly said, directing her attention across from her. “How are those two doing?”

 

<>

 

Ron was eyeing Draco in what the ginger probably thought was a discreet manner. It wasn’t, and Draco noticed immediately. While Harry and Ron had appeared to have made up, it was obvious that Ron still wasn’t any closer to approving of Draco. In a way this bothered Draco, but he knew there was little he could do about it. Even if he did disclose all his personal business to Ron it wasn’t likely that he would believe him. Not that he was particularly bothered by Ron’s disapproval of him; he could hardly care less what Weaselbee thought, but he knew that it would bother Harry if his boyfriend and best mate couldn’t at least be courteous to one another.

“Draco?” Harry asked from beside him. Draco looked up from his mug with a question on his face. He hadn’t been paying attention to the conversation.

“What?” 

“Molly just asked how your job search was going,” Harry filled him in. 

“Oh, right. Andromeda hired me to take care of things around her house.” He wasn’t sure why Harry couldn’t have told Molly that himself.

“Well done, Draco!” Molly said cheerfully. “How has that been?”

“Er… I haven’t actually started yet. It was just yesterday that she proposed it.”

“Still, what a wonderful job. Ron, here, has decided to become an Auror.” Draco didn’t know what he was supposed to say. 

“Haven’t heard back from them about it, though,” Ron said, sounding impatient. 

“You just owled them two days ago,” Molly commented. “These things can take time, dear. Don’t lose heart yet.”

This conversation was completely devoid of any substance, as far as Draco was concerned. There was simply no point to it, other than to have something to do. Molly didn’t seem genuinely interested, Harry looked bored, and Ron continued to eye Draco between sips of his tea. Every now and then Molly or Harry would include Draco in the conversation, as if they just couldn’t stand the thought of him silently observing. Not wanting to upset either of them, he would comply by offering a simple response. He wouldn’t have felt left out had Molly and Harry dominated the conversation. It was pretty obvious that Ron didn’t want to be there, which made Draco uncomfortable and less likely to chime in of his own accord. It was a great relief when Molly announced her and Ron’s departure, but of course it couldn’t be that easy. Before the two Weasley’s left Molly invited Harry and Draco to dinner that weekend. 

“Of course we’ll come,” Harry said enthusiastically. Draco didn’t think it sounded very convincing, but Molly seemed satisfied. 

“Then it’s a date! Anytime is fine, really, so just pop in whenever you’re ready,” Molly told them. Ron shuffled his feet.

“Great, see you then.”

“Bye, dears.” And Molly and Ron were gone, leaving Harry and Draco alone in the drawing room at long last. 

“That was awful,” Draco said as he relaxed into the sofa cushions and curled his feet under his legs.

“I didn’t think it was,” Harry disagreed. He draped his arm over Draco’s shoulders and leaned into him with a satisfied grin on his face.

“No, you wouldn’t think so. You got your friend back. I, meanwhile, had to suffer small talk with Molly in the kitchen before coming back up here prepared to do damage control.”

“But there wasn’t a need for it, was there?” Harry’s grin turned smug.

“Not really, but I still had to sit here while the painful small talk continued. Why can’t you people have a decent conversation?” Harry laughed at him and tilted his head to the side.

“And what would you describe as a ‘decent conversation?’”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Draco said sarcastically, “One where people actually care what’s being discussed? Something intellectual? Something with feeling behind it?”

“So it’s feelings you want?” Harry asked with an insinuating tone. 

“Maybe…” Draco hoped that this was going where he thought it was. 

When Harry adjusted himself and was leaning over Draco, he smiled in delight. Draco changed positions in order to allow Harry’s body to cover his own and waited for Harry to make the first move. In the past it was common for Draco to start these things, and he wanted Harry to show some initiative this time. He was not disappointed. Harry leaned down and pressed his lips against Draco’s, along with the length of his body. Draco gladly returned the kiss and heat flared beneath the surface of his skin. Harry grinded his hips against Draco’s in the most delicious way. All thought left Draco’s head in that instance. One of Draco’s hands held the nape of Harry’s neck and the other wound around the thin waist above his, pulling Harry closer. Things hadn’t gone much further than this between the two of them, but Draco thought maybe it was time they did. 

As if reading Draco’s mind, Harry’s hands slid beneath Draco’s shirt and began lifting it up. Soon his shirt was off his body and in a wrinkled pile on the floor. It didn’t even cross Draco’s mind that he didn’t want Harry to see his scars, but when Harry pulled away to remove his own shirt and gasped he remembered.

“Are these…” Harry’s words were a whisper, but it wouldn’t take a Ravenclaw to notice the emotion within them. “Did I do this?” Draco flinched as Harry’s fingers began tracing the silver lines that stood out against his ivory skin. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Draco told him, wishing that Harry would just let it go so they could continue with what they were doing. 

“I did, didn’t I?”

“It was years ago. I’m not even upset about it.”

“There’s so many scars, Draco.” Harry’s voice began wavering slightly. “I had no idea━ I didn’t mean to━”

“Would you stop, please?” Draco snapped. “I know you didn’t mean to, you twat. When you told me that casting Sectumsempra on me was your biggest regret I forgave you that moment. I would have forgiven you even if it wasn’t your biggest regret. You had no idea what that curse meant, and, on top of that, I survived.”

“But you almost didn’t.” Harry’s gaze never left Draco’s torso.

“And you almost didn’t come back to life after Voldemort killed you. The point is moot.” Draco closed his eyes in agitation only to open them again as Harry’s lips pressed against one of his ribs. 

“I’m so sorry,” Harry mumbled against Draco’s flesh. If this was Harry’s idea of an apology then Draco had no qualms about it. 

Little jolts of electricity spread from each scar Harry placed his lips on. As if he couldn’t rest until each scar was ‘apologised’ to, Harry kissed every one of them, lingering for a moment at each one and holding his lips against it. Draco felt his erection growing by the second and his breath picked up speed. He didn’t think Harry was paying much attention to his hands, but it was difficult for Draco not to notice the feather light touches as they caressed his body. Soft, barely audible moans came from between Draco’s parted lips as Harry made his way further down towards the waistband of his trousers. 

Draco was taken aback when Harry began unbuttoning his trousers. This was further than they’d ever dared to go yet. As Harry unzipped and slid the trousers down slowly the last thought on Draco’s mind was whether or not this was too far for Harry, with his newfound sexuality. Harry didn’t pause before slipping Draco’s pants down his thighs, releasing his erection from confinement. Draco became nervous as he watched Harry wrap a tentative hand around the base of his flesh.

“You don’t have to,” Draco said. His voice didn’t sound like his own; it was deeper and rougher than usual. “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to.”

“Do you want me to?” Harry asked, his mouth only a few inches above the head of Draco’s shaft. Harry’s question breezed against his exposed, sensitive flesh, causing a shiver to go through his entire body.

“ _Yes,_ ” Draco said, a bit too passionately. “But if you’re not sure…” 

Harry didn’t respond vocally, instead using his mouth to respond in another way. Draco gasped as Harry’s mouth encircled the head of his erection and his tongue lazily teased. It was better than self pleasure, that was for certain. Draco had never done this to another person, and no one had done this to him, but for the life of him he couldn’t imagine why not. It was as though a door had opened in Draco’s mind. All thoughts of scars, apologies, and awkward encounters with the Weasleys flew from his head and they were replaced by much more scandalous notions. 

Another moan, louder this time, was heard as Harry’s head lowered. Draco involuntarily bucked his hips against Harry’s mouth and was left feeling robbed as Harry gagged and removed his mouth from Draco’s erection. Draco silently reminded himself that this was both his and Harry’s first time and that it wasn’t smart to make quick movements like that.

“Sorry,” Draco laughed. Harry shrugged and returned to the task at hand. “Oh…” was all Draco could say as pleasure thundered through his body once more. 

Though Harry was probably inexperienced when it came to oral sex, Draco wasn’t aware. He had nothing to compare this moment to, and even the light scrapes of Harry’s teeth didn’t bother him. It wasn’t as painful as he’d imagined it would be, or as boys in the dormitories had claimed it was. 

Harry’s mouth was like a soft, warm cave of eroticism, something Draco wanted to indulge in again and again until he couldn’t anymore. His hips lifted a fraction, only just so as not to upset Harry, as he got closer to his release. Harry continued to move his mouth up and down and Draco’s hips twitched with no discernible rhythm. His leg muscles tightened along with Harry’s lips and he felt his erection throb as he released the tension brought about by the buildup before his orgasm. 

“Fucking hell,” Draco breathed shaliky. He looked up to find Harry staring at him with a half grin that told Draco he was proud of himself. 

“I did alright, then?” 

“Do you really have to ask?” It dawned on Draco that he had unintentionally ejaculated in Harry’s mouth without giving any sort of warning. “Oh no,” he groaned. Harry’s face fell.

“Did I do something wrong?” Panic replaced self satisfaction in his tone. “Don't tell me you're not really gay. God, wouldn't that be just perfect━”

“I just let you put my cock in your mouth and that's the conclusion you jump to? No, I just… I'm sorry if that tasted bad, I wasn't thinking— how can you think in a situation like that?”

“What's your point? It didn’t taste that bad.” Hearing that made Draco’s self consciousness disappear entirely and he wanted more details to fuel the erotic thoughts he was yet again having, but Harry went on before Draco could speak. “I read in a muggle magazine once that it’s common for people to swallow… when that happens.”

“What sort of person writes a magazine about swallowing someone’s semen?” Draco asked. He realised he was still exposed and pulled his pants and trousers up, struggling to do so with Harry still straddling his legs. “You know what, I don’t even want to know.” Draco pushed his questions about muggle authors and derogatory magazines from the forefront of his mind and shoved Harry backwards on the sofa. “My turn.”

“Wait, what━” 

“Shut up.” 

 

<>

 

Draco had wasted no time at all returning the favour that Harry had bestowed upon him. By the time he was finished pleasing Harry they were both exhausted and simply lay on the couch holding each other. Neither of them spoke, neither of them moved. Harry had the overwhelming feeling of satiation and didn’t think he had the energy for conversation. Just as Harry was beginning to drift off to a peaceful sleep there was a tapping at the large window near the piano. 

Groaning, Harry nudged Draco, who sluggishly made his way into a sitting position. Once free of the pleasant weight of Draco’s body, Harry got up and went to let the owl in. The owl hopped onto the inner window sill and allowed Harry to take the official looking letter from its beak. 

“Thanks,” Harry said, offering the owl a treat. The owl seemed to bow its head before turning around and winging off again. After shutting the window Harry returned to the sofa, where Draco promptly rested his head on his lap. 

“Who’s it from?” Draco asked in a sleepy voice. 

“Haven’t even opened it yet, Draco,” Harry said. It wasn’t Draco he was irritated with, it was the interruption to what could’ve ended up being a very relaxing evening. 

The seal on the front of the letter was one Harry recognized as being from Gringotts. He had no clue why they would be corresponding with him. _Unless_ … Harry opened up the letter and began reading the slanted, regal looking writing within.

“Draco!” Harry exclaimed.

“What is it?” Draco didn’t even bother to sit up, but he did crack one eye open.

“They’ve unfreezed my vault! That wasn’t supposed to happen until next month!” Draco did sit up, then. 

“Why would they have done that? You never told me why they froze your account in the first place.”

“I broke into Gringotts to steal Helga Hufflepuff’s cup from your aunt Bellatrix’ vault,” Harry said in a rushed way. Draco’s jaw dropped open and his eyes widened, but Harry wasn’t interested in telling that story right then. “That’s not the point, though. I have access to my vault! I have money again!”

“Good for you?” Draco yawned. He really did not seem to care. “You have a job that pays you plenty. It’s really not that big of a deal.”

“It is, though. Having so much money kept away from you is a big deal. Getting it back is an even bigger deal. They said they ended my suspension from accessing my vault because of good behaviour, though I’m not sure what that means.”

“I couldn’t tell you either. What does a bank consider to be good behaviour?”

“Not breaking in, maybe?”

“Yeah, back to that. How in the hell did you break into Gringotts? That’s supposed to be impossible. Or, at least, living to tell the tale is.” Harry set the letter down and quelled his own excitement. Draco was not going to let the subject drop until Harry explained. 

“Supposed to be, yeah, but here I am, alive and well.” He paused just to tease Draco.

“Then tell me what happened, you giant git,” Draco said with a chuckle. 

“Alright, alright. I was under the invisibility cloak with Griphook, a goblin who used to work at Gringotts. Ron was disguised under a fake identity and Hermione was disguised as Bellatrix━”

“What?!” Draco interrupted, a look of utter amazement on his face. “How did she disguise herself as Bellatrix? Also, why would a goblin help you break into the bank?”

“Polyjuice potion,” Harry explained simply. “We struck a deal with Griphook. He wanted the sword of Gryffindor and we wanted in Gringotts. Probably shouldn’t have trusted him, in the end, but we didn’t know he was going to double-cross us.” Harry thought back to Griphook taking the sword, only to run from the vault screaming about thieves in the vault. It was hard to stay calm when he thought about the goblin; he was part of the reason Harry’s vault had been frozen in the first place. “At first it seemed like we weren’t getting in, but after I confounded the guards at the entrance they let us. I had to use Imperius on Travers and Bogrod, the goblin accompanying us, because Ron and Hermione’s disguises failed when we went through that bloody waterfall.”

“Hang on a minute. You used an Unforgivable Curse, and yet you defended me at my hearing and basically lied, saying I never used them?” Draco asked. 

“I used an Unforgivable Curse _multiple_ times,” Harry corrected. “But I don’t see why you’re complaining, since me _telling the truth,_ ” he corrected again, “Got you out of a prison sentence. Anyway… As it turns out, there was a dragon guarding the vault━”

“You’re not serious,” Draco interrupted again.

“I am serious, and if you don’t quit interrupting I’m done telling you what happened.” Harry shook his head. “You have a real issue with that, mate.”

“Sorry, I’ll stop. This is just too unreal.”

“It felt unreal. Even now it seems like a really strange dream. As I was saying, there was a dragon guarding the vault. Griphook used these Clankers to take care of the dragon and I made Bogrod open the vault for us. When we got in we realised that if we touched anything it would multiply and burn us. We all got burnt pretty badly, since it was really hard not to touch anything. It took us a while, and Hermione ended up having to levitate me in order to reach the cup, but we found it. That was when Griphook decided it would be a good idea to start screaming his bloody head off that we were in there stealing. We ended up running from a bunch of goblins and wizards alike, cursing and hexing them as we went.” Harry sighed as the lingering anxiety of that day built up in his stomach again. “We wound up riding that same dragon that was guarding Bellatrix’ vault out of the bank. It was a rough ride, getting out, but we managed it. Eventually we jumped off of the dragon and into a lake. That’s how we got a hold of the cup.” 

Draco stared at Harry with a blank expression. Harry knew that the story he’d just told was one he hadn’t told many people about— aside from Dumbledore’s Army— and a story that was difficult to imagine. Even though they’d technically been found out, none of the people involved were named in public reports on the break-in. For some reason Harry had been the only person to be punished for what happened. Ron didn’t have a personal vault, but his family did. Hermione, as far as he was aware, didn’t have a Gringotts vault, either, so perhaps those two managed to avoid consequences that way. Harry was just glad that the goblins had finally decided to allow him access to his vault again.

“There’s no way you really did that,” Draco finally said. “There’s just no way. You couldn’t have ridden a dragon, or gotten out of Gringotts alive… I don’t understand.”

“Believe me or don’t, it doesn’t really matter,” Harry said with a laugh. “I know what happened, and so do Ron and Hermione. If it helps you believe me better, the dragon was half blind and really old, so it probably wasn’t nearly as violent as it’d been in its prime.”

“You’re insane, Harry.”

“I can’t argue with you, there. What we did was insane. I’m amazed we made it out alive, too. Another plus to that, aside from getting the cup, was that the dragon was free afterward. It was pretty obvious they were mistreating it by the reaction it had to the Clankers. It was expecting pain.”

“Yes, yes, you’re a truly brave hero and all that shite, but if you ever try anything that dangerous again I will personally make sure you never leave this house for the foreseeable future.” Harry laughed even harder. 

“There’s no need to worry, there. I don’t ever plan on breaking into Gringotts again. You couldn’t pay me enough. In that situation it was sort of necessary, though. If we hadn’t broken into your aunt’s vault we wouldn’t have been able to destroy that horcrux. Basically, Voldemort would still be able to come back.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Draco considered. “Still, the thought of you doing those things… You must’ve been terrified. How many horcruxes did he have, anyway? After you told me about his soul splitting into you I wondered if he’d been trying to create a horcrux, and hearing you call the cup a horcrux sort of confirmed that.” It shouldn’t have surprised Harry that Draco knew what a horcrux was, living with his father and probably having access to a wealth of information about them, but Harry had completely forgotten that he hadn’t explained about horcruxes at all.

“We all were terrified, for a long time. The hunt for horcruxes was one of the most difficult times in my life. There were seven, in total, including me. When we were looking for them we survived on little to no food, dealt with the presence of extreme negativity from that damned locket, and had an overall lack of comfort of sense of wellbeing… Not to mention that I was at the top of Voldemort’s wanted list. It just goes to show how well humans can persevere, when forced to do so.” Draco wrapped Harry in a tight hug, suddenly. Harry wasn’t sure why; he wasn’t sad, he didn’t need comforting. Nonetheless, he returned Draco’s embrace.

“I wish I could’ve been there with you,” Draco said. His breath weaved through the ends of Harry’s hair, causing goosebumps to rise on his neck. “I wish I could’ve helped you.”

“You would’ve gotten us killed, I think,” Harry said truthfully. The two of them laughed, their shoulders rising and falling nearly in time. 

“Shut up and let me be sentimental.” Harry was about to retort when there was yet another series of taps at the window.

“Can we have one moment to ourselves?” Harry complained as he leaned away from Draco and back into the sofa arm. “You go get this one.” 

“Alright,” Draco grumbled. He got up and went to let the owl in. The walk from the sofa to the window was a short one, but in that time the owl had begun pecking impatiently at the window. Draco’s eyebrow rose as he let the bird in. The owl practically shoved the white parchment at him before immediately turning and flying away.

“That owl clearly has a job to do,” Harry said. He watched as Draco opened the letter. His face became more and more concerned as he skimmed it. “What’s wrong? Did your mother send another letter?”

“Harry,” Draco said calmly. He set the letter down on the piano lid and stepped towards the sofa. “Don’t panic, alright?”

“What’s going on?” Harry sat up straight on the sofa. “You can’t tell me not to panic and expect me to not panic.”

“This time you need to, Harry. That’s from St. Mungo’s. We have to go get Teddy━”

“ _What happened to Teddy?_ ” Harry shouted, getting up from the couch and speed walking to the piano for the letter. 

“Nothing happened to Teddy,” Draco said, still sounding tranquil. “Andromeda has fallen ill with Spattergroit, which is an incredibly contagious━”

“Be quiet, would you?” Harry snapped. He was well aware of what Spattergroit was, thanks to Fred, George, Ron, and the ghoul in their attic. Harry wanted to read the letter for himself, making sure not to miss a single detail. If something was wrong with Teddy he needed to know. As harry reached the end of the letter he felt himself breathe more steadily. From what they said, just as Draco had repeated, Teddy was not in danger. The full story wasn’t in this short letter, he could tell, but at least he knew Teddy was safe.

“We’ll go get Teddy,” Draco told Harry.

Harry didn’t respond. His lips were pressed in a tight line, his anxiety and fear were still present in his lungs and chest, constricting him there. Being told that Teddy was okay was one thing, but in the back of Harry’s mind was the thought that Teddy could have been infected already and the medi witches and wizards didn’t know about it yet. He told himself that the hospital staff wouldn’t have informed Harry that Teddy was well if he wasn’t, but he refused to get his hopes up. Instead of reacting emotionally, he needed to react logically. In a situation like this there was no room for breakdowns, and Harry knew this despite the pressing feeling of overwhelming dread he felt. It wasn’t that he didn’t care for Andromeda, but he couldn’t bear the thought of Teddy being anything less than the happy, healthy infant he was.

Draco took Harry’s hand, something he was grateful for. With the simple gesture of his hand being enclosed in another he was given the strength he needed to take action. Together they descended the staircases down to the basement and used the Floo to get to St. Mungo’s waiting room.


	20. Change of Plans

As soon as the two of them stepped out of the Floo and into the waiting room, a medi witch approached them. Her face was stern and she had an air of business about her. Harry’s hand was clenching Draco’s tightly, but Draco didn’t mind. There was too much else to worry about that took precedence over lost blood circulation.

“I’m glad you came as quickly as you did, Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy,” said the medi witch, nodding to them both respectfully. Then, looking at Harry alone, she said, “My name is Agatha, I’m one of the healers assigned to Mrs. Tonks and the one who wrote you the letter requesting your presence. Before I take you to Teddy I’ll need to know when the last time you both were in contact with Mrs. Tonks was.” Draco’s eyes widened.

“Just yesterday,” he told the healer.

“Then you’ll both need to be screened before we can allow you contact with Teddy.” Healer Agatha used her wand to summon an oxygen filter for her mouth and nose along with a pair of gloves. “I apologise, but I’ll need you both to keep a distance, and please refrain from touching anything. Follow me.” Her white gloves made sharp snaps against her wrist as she finished putting them on. Draco thought it sounded much louder than it probably had been, which led him to believe that he was more terrified than he was allowing himself to feel, if his brain was exaggerating something small like that. 

Harry led the way behind the hurried woman. Draco never thought he would thank his father again for the ability to mask his inner feelings, but he was doing it then. If he didn’t have the ability he would probably be a hyperventilating mess, and from the looks of Harry, he couldn’t let that happen. It was obvious to Draco that Harry was not taking this situation very well, understandably so. He was keeping his thoughts to himself, but there were waves of foreboding rippling off of him.

They were brought to a very white, very bare room nearby the waiting area. Agatha cast several spells on herself that Draco was unfamiliar with, but he assumed they were meant to protect her from any germs they could pass on to her if they were infected.

“I need to see Teddy,” Harry said through clenched teeth. Draco squeezed his hand and pleaded with his eyes for Harry to just calm down so they could get the screening over with. Harry wasn’t paying attention, however, so Draco could only offer his silent support through his hand. 

“I realise that, Mr. Potter, but it could be lethal to him if we were to let you handle him before we know for certain that you and Mr. Malfoy aren’t infected. If you don’t already know, Spattergroit is no matter to be taken lightly, especially not when it concerns an infant. Teddy is in safe hands and can wait, if it means he will stay healthy.” Harry said nothing, but Draco could feel through his hand that his body was tensed, wound tighter than Draco had seen him in a long time.

Finally Harry nodded his cooperation. Agatha’s evaluative gaze moved over the two wizards standing before her. Draco was fully dressed, but as she began casting spells on him he felt more naked than clothed. Her lips moved, barely noticeably, over unheard words and her wrists made soft curving movements. There was nothing coming from the tip of her wand, but Draco could feel very well the magic that caressed his still form like tentacles. 

“What are you doing?” Draco asked nervously. He thought that maybe it would calm him to know what was going on.

“Augury prognosis charms,” the medi witch replied shortly. “They detect any illnesses that you have and that are developing within you.” Her tone implied that Draco should be quiet if he wanted this to go quickly.

Several moments passed before Draco could physically feel the charms being directed at Harry instead of him. His heart began pumping expeditiously in his chest as he awaited the results of the augury prognosis charms. It took just as long for Agatha to screen Harry, and in the time it took her Draco’s angst only built. Finally, after what seemed like at least fifteen minutes from when they first entered the room, Agatha ended her incanting and replaced her wand in her robes.

“Well, boys, you’re both very lucky.” Draco let out an audible breath of relief, though he was still worried about his aunt and cousin. “It looks as though you’re both clear of any illnesses and diseases, including Spattergroit.”

“Then can I please see my godson?” Harry asked, a new level of impatience staining his words. Agatha’s eyebrows tilted together in the middle and her reply came in the form of a curt nod before she opened the door to the room and let them out.

Down several corridors they went, and up as many flights of stairs, until they reached an incredibly secure looking iron door. Agatha took her wand from her robes and cast a few unlocking charms that were as unfamiliar to Draco as the prognosis charms she’d used on him. 

“Right through here,” she said, holding the door open for them. As the door shut once more, she told them, “Teddy is in the healer’s station. He’s been inconsolable for a while now, and I think it would do him some good to see a friendly face.” Though Agatha sounded cross and strict, her eyes softened at her mention of Teddy’s bad mood. “Mrs. Tonks and her grandson have been here since early this morning. I’m sure he’s feeling just as distraught as you two must be.” Harry nodded, but kept silent.

“Why wasn’t Harry contacted sooner?” Draco found himself asking, his voice on the brink of irritation. “If Teddy has been inconsolable for a while, why were we just informed that we need to come get him?”

“Mrs. Tonks’ scanning took much longer than yours did due to the simple fact that we now know what we’re looking for, and didn’t then,” Agatha explained. She sounded to Draco as though her patience was wearing thin. “Being scanned for illnesses is a very draining process, and by the time we discovered what was going on Mrs. Tonks was thoroughly exhausted. It was only right that we let her rest before asking her what she’d like done with her grandson. 

“As soon as she recovered from her exhaustion we healers asked her who she preferred to take responsibility for her grandson, and only then did we contact you.” Agatha narrowed her eyes, only slightly. “My apologies if this was not satisfactory action on our parts. We healers do the very best that we can to ensure our patients’ rights are not infringed upon and that they are taken care of well.” Her eyes remained on both Harry and Draco, flicking back and forth, as if she could watch her words sink into them. Draco found himself feeling oddly the same as he had every time he’d thought he’d gotten away with something as a child, only for his mother to scold him later on. “Now, let’s take you to Teddy.”

Just as they began walking once more a medi wizard came into the corridor from one of the adjacent doors, holding a wailing Teddy. Harry let go of Draco’s hand and rushed forward to take Teddy from the wizard’s arms. Draco stood where he was, watching as Teddy clung desperately to Harry’s shirt. Teddy’s piercing cry turned into a more tired sounding pout, but he was by no means untroubled. 

“Shh, Teddy,” Harry soothed. “It’s alright, I’m here with you. Everything is okay.” Harry held Teddy close to his chest and walked back over to Draco and Agatha. “He’s hungry,” Harry told the witch. “When was the last time he ate?”

“Just an hour ago. He should be━”

“Can someone please go get him a bottle? I don’t have anything for him. I didn’t think to stop by Andromeda’s first.”

“Yes, well that’s probably a good thing. Had you gone there you would’ve been at even more risk of getting infected. I will go and warm him some formula. Healer Julian, here, can explain what’s going on to you.” The surly healer strutted away quickly, only for the medi wizard, presumably Julian, to take her place. 

“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt your evening,” Healer Julian said with a sad smile. 

“When was the last time Teddy’s nappy was changed?” Harry asked flatly. 

“I actually just did that,” the healer explained patiently, topping it off with a warm smile. Already Draco could tell this healer was more people-friendly than the other. Harry visibly relaxed, but not much. “By now I’m sure you’re aware that Mrs. Tonks has contracted Spattergroit somehow. It’s contractible due to fungus, but our science teams haven’t been able to deduce which kind. We aren’t even sure if there are multiple strains of fungus that cause it, or just one, really. This makes it very imperative that you do not return to her home, as it’s highly possible that that is where the infection began, not to mention anything she may have gotten bodily fluids on is likely to spread the disease.

“All our tests are conclusive. Mrs. Tonks is very ill. She’s been quarantined in room E27, just down this hall. I would let you have a peek at her, but in the short time since she was diagnosed her condition has gotten worse. I’m afraid she’s looking a bit worse for the wear.”

“I want to see her,” Draco said. “She’s my aunt, she’s family. I need to see if she’s alright.” Julian looked apprehensive, but nodded anyway.

Teddy was still fussing, and Harry seemed more concerned about him at the moment, so they stayed behind. Draco and Julian walked side by side down the hall and Draco nodded to Agatha, who was coming back with a bottle for Teddy. Not too far down the hall they stopped in front of door E27. Draco looked through the thick glass pane in the door and nearly gasped.

“It’s very fast acting,” Julian said quietly. “If she hadn’t come to us this morning for her scheduled physical her condition probably would’ve gone unnoticed, putting her grandson at higher risk. It's amazing to me that he didn't already contract it.” Draco had to agree that it was incredibly lucky that Teddy hadn’t been infected as well. He was more thankful than he could say, about that; who knows how bad it could’ve been had Teddy fallen ill as well?

“So… those swells on her face…”

“Pustules,” Julian answered. “The liquid inside of them is likely infectious, though we can’t be sure, and if they burst they’ll scar. We’ve done all we can to try and keep them from popping up, but there’s only so much we can do.”

“So there’s no cure.” It wasn’t a question. He knew there was no cure. If nobody had found a cause for it yet, they most likely had not found a remedy.

“There isn’t one, no. There are certain treatments, though they’ve shown to do little in the way of helping.”

“How long will she be sick?” Draco’s eyes roamed her sleeping form. Her eyes were closed, her face relaxed. If not for the purple pustules on her face and the green tint to her complexion, Draco wouldn’t have believed her ill. 

“There’s no way of knowing. It could take months, it could take a year, it could take weeks…” Julian paused before speaking again. “I’m not telling you this next piece of information to worry you; I only want you to have a realistic view on the circumstances. This is a disease that people die from. While Mrs. Tonks has proven to be very strong and healthy in the past, this is an illness that can steal the strength from people. That is not to say that she _will_ die, but I need you to understand how serious this is. As a healer I cannot lie to you and tell you that things will most definitely be fine.”

Draco nodded, though his head suddenly felt five kilograms heavier. He took one last look at his aunt, who he had just begun to know, and turned from the window. Down the hall he could see Harry leaning against the wall of the corridor, cradling Teddy and feeding him from a bottle. 

“Is there any way we can talk to her while she’s here?” Draco asked softly.

“You can write to her. There is no guarantee that the infection won’t spread to her uvula and take away her ability to speak, though. This would make it impossible for us to write down her responses,” Julian informed him as the two of them began walking slowly back toward Harry and Teddy. “It’s very common for that to happen. I do suggest writing to her, still. Were I in her position I would want any form of communication possible. Quarantine is never easy. She will feel very alone, I’m sure, and would probably like very much to hear from her family and friends.”

“I’ll write,” Draco promised. Even if she didn’t have the ability to speak, to have the medi witches or wizards write her response, Draco would write to her. After the kindness she showed him the day before he felt he owed her that much, at least.

“Then we’ll make sure your letters get to her.” Draco nodded solemnly before returning to Harry.   
“Are you ready to go home?” Harry didn’t take his eyes off of the nearly sleeping infant in his arms.

“Yes, I am,” he said softly.

“There’s a fireplace in the healer’s station that I would be glad to let the three of you use,” Julian informed them. “I’ll show you to it.” 

 

<>

 

Upon arriving home, Harry remembered that they had no place for Teddy to sleep, no nappies or bum wipes, no bottles aside from the one Julian said they could take with them━ which was close to empty━ and nothing to refill it with. Harry knew he could Transfigure Teddy a decent crib, but he wasn’t sure it would be sanitary to Transfigure bottles. It was clear to him that they needed to go shopping. 

“Draco,” Harry began as he sat on his favorite sofa in the drawing room. “One of us needs to stay here with Teddy while the other goes shopping for him.” Draco sat down beside him and placed a warm hand on his thigh. “I think I’ll have a better idea of what he needs, but I want to know if you’ll be comfortable here alone with him.” Harry was aware that Draco had only met his cousin once, and though he knew to burp him and how to hold him, he wasn’t sure Draco would feel confident being alone with Teddy.

“I can stay here with him,” Draco said, sounding sure of himself. Harry had faith in him, but was still hesitant.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

“Well, he’s sleeping, so I’m fairly sure it won’t take a whole lot of effort to care for him. Are you sure there’s anywhere open right now?” Harry checked his watch.

“It’s still early enough that some muggle stores will be open,” he replied. “I’ll try to be quick, but if you need help with anything please firecall Molly. I’m sure she’d be over in an instant if she knew you needed her.” 

“I’ll call her if I need to.” Draco spread his arms and Harry reluctantly handed the sleeping infant over to him. “He’s so small,” Draco whispered. 

Harry stood up carefully, making sure not to jostle the sofa too much, then kissed Draco softly on his forehead. Draco smiled up at him and shooed Harry out with his free hand. Harry sighed, gave one last look at Teddy, and left the drawing room. He made a detour to his room to collect some money, making sure to Transfigure it to muggle money before pocketing it. Part of him felt guilty for not getting it exchanged as true muggle money, and he told himself he needed to have some set aside for situations such as this. As he walked down the creaking stairs of Grimmauld Place Harry made a mental list of the things he would need for Teddy. He hoped he’d brought along enough money, but it would be okay if he had to make another trip tomorrow in case he forgot something. 

The store he’d Apparated to was a large muggle chain, one that Harry knew was open twenty four hours. It didn’t seem very busy as he walked out from behind the dumpster near the entrance, which was for the better. Waiting in line was usually what took longest at stores like these, if his memories served him correctly. Harry started a bit when the automatic door opened for him, but he played it off as though he had a sudden itch on the back of his neck. Nobody was watching him anyway. 

Following signs through the store━ and forcing himself not to cast a silencing charm on the squeaky wheel of his cart━ Harry finally found the baby section of it. His eyes widened at all the things a baby might need. Was Teddy old enough for a toothbrush? He couldn’t remember Andromeda brushing his gums, so perhaps not. Then again, he’d rarely been over to see them early or late enough to see their morning and night routines, so he grabbed one just in case. Harry knew Teddy didn’t need baby food, but he took ten cans of formula for sensitive stomachs off the nearby shelf. It crossed his mind that ten was probably too much, but, not knowing how much Teddy would need or how long they’d have him, he wanted to be prepared. He didn’t think Teddy had a sensitive stomach, but he also didn’t know what kind Andromeda gave him.

“What is this?” Harry mumbled to himself. There was a small, strange, bulbous object that looked as though it was meant to baste a turkey. Reading the package he saw that it was a nasal aspirator, meant to clear snot from a baby’s nose. Did Teddy need that? Harry had never felt more lost in his life, and that was saying something. 

Deciding that Teddy didn’t really need a nasal aspirator, Harry continued down the aisle. There were so many sizes of nappies, but the packaging thankfully had the weight of the child in mind per size. Teddy couldn’t be more than seven or eight kilograms, so he grabbed a box of one hundred and ninety eight diapers in size one as well as a bulk box of bum wipes. Again, he thought that might be too many, but he couldn’t know for sure. 

Moving on, Harry grabbed two double packs of bottles and a bottle scrubber, a pack of five towels, several plush baby blankets and some swaddle cloths. He didn’t get much further before he also tossed in sharp edge covers, electrical outlet covers (even though he didn’t think Number 12 had outlets), a kit with a thermometer, nail clippers, and other hygiene tools, and finally bath soap and a rubber duck.

Then he happened upon the clothing section. It was huge, and from a first glance he could see already that there were several outfits he’d love to see on Teddy. He had to admit that the baby girl clothes were often times cuter than the ones meant for boys, but there was enough of a selection of both that it didn’t really matter to him. Checking to make sure the sizes were correct, Harry tossed in outfit after outfit, not really counting. They were just so little and cute, how could he not buy them all?

“These shoes!” Harry couldn’t stop himself from exclaiming when he saw the miniscule baby shoes at the end of one rack of clothes. Were babies’ feet really that small? How had he not noticed? He wasn’t sure if Teddy would need shoes, but he grabbed several pairs anyway, along with four packs of socks. 

As he was getting ready to head towards the checkouts he noticed an aisle of toys and wandered down that lane, too. Teddy probably wouldn’t have much to play with at home. After stocking up on toys labeled three to six months he decided he’d bought enough and forced himself to go to the checkout. 

The woman scanning his items looked confused by the quantity of things he was buying, but she kept any thoughts or questions to herself, which Harry was thankful for. He didn’t really know how to explain why he’d bought so much anyway. She rang his items up and bagged them all, and Harry placed the many bags back into his cart. He hadn’t realised how much he’d actually bought until the total was in his face in neon green numbers.

“It looks like you found everything alright,” the cashier said with a lighthearted chuckle. 

“I did, yeah,” Harry said smiling, his cheeks betraying him with heat. He paid the woman the proper amount and was walking away when she called out to him.

“Congratulations to you and your wife on the baby!” 

Harry stopped in his tracks, blinked several times, and continued out of the store without responding. He replaced his cart and collected the heavy bags— which weighed down his arms severely— walked out of the store, hid behind the dumpster, and Disapparated home. 

Harry hadn’t realised how long it had taken him to find all of Teddy’s things. By the time he made his way back to the drawing room, both Teddy and Draco were asleep on the couch. Draco had his back turned away from the back of the sofa with Teddy tucked in his arms on the inside, right against his chest. Harry could’ve cried from the attack of adorableness on his senses. He was in half a mind to leave them there just like they were, but he knew that Draco was bound to have a horrible backache in the morning if he didn’t move. Aside from that, even the slight angle of the couch seat had Harry worried that Draco might roll forward and accidently crush Teddy. It was as Draco said: he was so tiny. At that point he knew he needed a camera, not only to keep these instances documented to look back on fondly, but also to show Andromeda when she was healthy again. Harry pushed away the ‘if’ his brain tried to add to that thought. He’d handled enough heavy emotions for one night and decided not to let himself go back there just yet. 

With the feeling of interrupting a very special moment, Harry shook Draco’s shoulder gently. Instead of twitching violently awake, as Harry had half expected him to do, Draco woke slowly, blinking in a sluggish way and inhaling as though he’d been holding his breath.

“Is it morning already?” Draco asked in a sleep fogged voice. Harry tried desperately not to grin, but it couldn’t really be helped. Half-asleep Draco was probably the cutest Draco he’d seen so far.

“No, but you can’t sleep on the sofa,” Harry told him in a whisper. “I’ve bought all of the things Teddy will need… and probably more than he needs, I’ll admit. I may have swayed a little too far toward the cautious side.”

“What all did you buy?” Draco began the slow and careful process of sitting up, doing his best not to wake Teddy in the process. 

“Erm…” Harry decided to let Draco see for himself. He’d set the many bags down around him and there was no way possible that Draco could miss them. 

“Really, Harry?” Draco said with a flat stare.

“I didn’t know what he’d need!” Harry defended quickly. “Who knows how long we’ll have him. I want him to have everything he could need while he’s with us.”

“Don’t you think this is a bit overboard, though?” Draco thumbed open one of the bags near his feet and counted under his breath. “Ten cans of formula. Again I ask, really, Harry?”

“Overboard,” Harry laughed. “Says the bloke who spent his childhood in a manor and was probably given anything he looked at for too long in the market.”

“My parents rarely took me to market. They didn’t want me exposed to people they didn’t approve of.”

“Is that supposed to be a counter-argument?” Harry was in a teasing mood, perhaps because of how disheveled Draco’s appearance was, and how he’d found him and Teddy. His hair was tousled from sleep and his shirt was crooked. It was almost too much for Harry. The fact that Draco was holding the sweetest sleeping infant he’d seen didn’t help matters much, either. In fact, he found his heart clenching at the sight of Draco holding Teddy in a way it hadn’t when they’d been visiting Andromeda the day before. Maybe it was that they were in their home, or how relaxed and natural Draco looked holding Teddy. 

“My point is… You know what? You’re right, it’s probably best that we’re overprepared. We aren’t parents, so we couldn’t possibly know all the ins and outs of having a baby.”

“That’s an interesting way to phrase it,” Harry said with an amused snort. Draco leveled him with a glare.

“You know what I meant.”

Harry merely smirked, took his wand from his pocket, and levitated the bags. “I’m going to make Teddy’s crib in my room.” Catching the unspoken suggestion, Draco gently stood up and followed Harry and the floating bags to his bedroom. 

“You can lay Teddy in the middle of my bed, for now,” Harry said as he searched his room for something he could turn into a crib. 

“I don’t want to put him down,” Draco admitted shyly. Harry turned and gave Draco a strange half smile that probably expressed the mixture of surprise and pride he felt. 

“You’re going to have to eventually. He’s used to sleeping in a crib by now.” 

Harry decided that the chair to his writing desk would work best for the moment and tried his best to match his Transfigured version of a crib to the one in Teddy’s nursery at Andromeda’s house. It looked pretty close. He tested the side bars, wiggling them back and forth, to make sure it was sturdy before taking one of his pillows and turning it into a mattress for the crib .

“Damn, I forgot sheets,” Harry mumbled. 

Shrugging, he searched the bags of baby things until he found the pack of blankets, then Transfigured one into a crib sheet. It was probably the softest fabric Harry had ever felt in his life, and for a moment he found himself envying Teddy’s luxurious bed. Babies got the best things, it seemed. Sighing, Harry levitated the crib towards the back of his room and smiled in satisfaction at how normal it looked there. He supposed that was simply because any piece of furniture would’ve looked nice in that spot, only he hadn’t noticed until now. 

“Should I lay him in there, then?” Draco whispered. “Are you sure it’s sturdy?”

“Want to climb in and test it yourself?” Draco sent another glare his way, but went over to the crib anyway and placed Teddy lightly onto his back, then covered him with one of the blankets. Teddy’s eyes opened briefly, but closed again a second later. He’d had a very long and tiring day, too, and Harry hoped he would sleep through the night. 

For a while Harry and Draco just stood there staring at Teddy’s sleeping form. It didn’t feel as strange as Harry had thought it would, having Teddy here with them. Not that he’d had much time to think on it. It was all rather sudden, he knew, but it still seemed to fit. Teddy seemed to fit. 

Draco glanced back at Harry over his shoulder and came to stand beside him, wrapping his arm around Harry’s waist and leaning into him. Harry welcomed this gesture; it was more comforting than Draco probably understood. 

“He looks so peaceful,” Draco whispered. 

“He does,” Harry agreed just as quietly. He had to wonder if Draco had the strange feeling that they were playing house, and when Draco spoke next he thought he did.

“Are we a family now? I mean, it’s temporary, of course, but still. It feels… right. Aside from how it came to happen, that is,” he added sullenly. 

“I think so, too. Maybe we are a family now. Or at least, we can pretend until Andromeda gets out of the hospital.” No, not if. When. Because she would. She had to. 

“Harry…” Draco trailed off, as though he was struggling to say what was on his mind. “I don’t mean to sound cryptic, and I do think we should stay positive, but… there is the chance that she won’t get better.”

“Can we please not?” Harry stepped away from Draco and went over to the group of bags on the floor near his bed. It reminded him of the time he and Draco had gone clothes shopping, except now there were at least twice as many bags sitting there.

“I’m sorry,” Draco murmured. “Julian told me━”

“ _Please_ , Draco,” Harry interrupted, throwing a sharp look over his shoulder. “Please not now. I don’t want to think about what Julian said, I don’t want to think about ‘if.’ I just want to let this be for now. I know what could happen just as well as you do. I’d really like to not think about it.” Draco came to kneel beside Harry.

“I understand. Do you want help sorting this stuff out?” The smile Draco gave Harry was full of warmth and tenderness, and Harry knew that part of Draco must be glad not to discuss what could happen in the future when it came to Andromeda’s health.

“I’d really like that,” Harry said, sending Draco a smile he hoped was matching.

Draco grabbed one of the bags of clothes and began taking them off their hangers and folding them. Harry took the bag of bath time things and told Draco he’d be back in a moment, then brought it to the loo. Once he’d put the towels in the cabinet there, and the soap on the edge of the tub next to the duck, he went back to the bedroom. Draco had folded the second and third bag of clothes already, probably with magic.

“There’s an empty drawer at the bottom of my dresser. I think his clothes should all fit there,” Harry said. He took one of the piles and put them in that drawer and Draco shortly followed his actions. 

“How long do you expect him to be here?” Draco asked teasingly. “He’ll probably grow out of this size before he can wear all of these outfits.”

“I couldn’t decide what to get, so I got one of each outfit in his size,” Harry said bashfully. He really hadn’t intended to buy so much for Teddy, and he knew he’d gotten carried away. Next time he’d make Draco come with him, if he thought he could control his urge to buy every dinosaur print stretch and grow in sight. Harry had the suspicion that it wouldn’t be that easy for Draco either.

“Well it seems like he’ll be stocked up on clothes and nappies for the next month at least.”

“Better to over-prepare than under-prepare.” Harry shrugged. 

“Alright, but does he really need all of these toys?” The bag in Draco’s hand was not the only one full of toys meant for infants Teddy’s age. 

“How many toys did you have as a child?” Draco rolled his eyes at Harry’s question.

“I’ll just drop it, then.”

“That’s what I thought.” Harry took his wand from his pocket once more and Transfigured one of the plastic bags into a large chest to store Teddy’s toys in, then quietly placed the contents of both toy-filled bags into it. 

“What do I do with these?” Harry turned and saw that Draco was holding the packages of swaddling cloths.

“Er, just set them on my writing desk for now.”

“And these?” The outlet plugs and sharp corner covers.

“Those can go…” Harry looked around his room again, which was starting to feel too small for everything he’d bought. He remembered there was a closet in the hall near his room and thought that would be a decent spot for them. “In the closet down the hall.” Draco nodded and left the room only to come back a moment later.

“I’m assuming these can go in the kitchen,” Draco said, referring to the bottles and formula.

“I’d like to keep one can and bottle in here in case he gets hungry in the middle of the night, but the rest can go down to the kitchen. Again Draco replied with a nod and took the bags of formula and bottles downstairs, leaving one of each behind on Harry’s writing desk.

As soon as Harry couldn’t hear Draco’s footsteps anymore fear hit him like a tidal wave, shaking him to his core. How was he going to handle taking care of Teddy? He had no idea what babies needed, even after the month he’d spent visiting Andromeda and helping with Teddy. There were so many things he was beginning to realise he was clueless about. If there was some sort of emergency, he knew he could go to St. Mungo’s, but not every situation would require the hospital. What would he do when he needed to go back to work? Without much thought on it, he’d already decided to take off a week in order to adjust. Kingsley wouldn’t mind if he knew what was going on. But when he went back? How would Draco feel about being at home alone with Teddy for up to twelve hours every day? He could always call on Molly, but what if something happened and Harry wasn’t there to help?

Worries and fears flooded Harry’s mind to the point where he felt he needed to sit down. Walking backwards, he found the edge of his bed with the backs of his thighs and stumbled into a sitting position on his mattress. 

 

<>

 

When Draco came back to Harry’s bedroom he found his boyfriend sitting on the edge of his bed, a look of panic painting his face. Draco’s eyebrows furrowed. He’d been fine when Draco had gone downstairs. What had happened in the time it had taken him to put the formula in the pantry?

Walking towards Harry he asked, “Are you okay?” Harry nodded, but it was obvious he wasn’t. Draco glanced at Teddy long enough to see the subtle rise and fall of his chest and knew he was fine. Draco sat beside Harry and took his hand. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m scared.” That much was clear.

“Of what? Teddy’s sleeping, he’s safe, we’re both here together.” Harry’s face turned slowly to Draco, which was when he noticed the moisture pooling in his eyes. The bright green that usually met his gaze was murkey, reminding Draco of the thick lake water seen through the Slytherin common room windows. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Harry whispered in a shaking breath. “I don’t know how to take care of a baby. What if━ what if Teddy hates it here? What if he can’t get used to it? He’s spent almost every day of his life with Andromeda, how is he going to deal with being away from her? What if something happens and we don’t know what to do?” Harry’s voice was frantic and one tear had escaped the corner of his left eye. 

“Harry,” Draco said, trying to sound as calm as he could when he was beginning to realise Harry was right to be worried. “We’ll take this one day━ no, one moment━ at a time. We have no way of knowing what will happen, but we have people who can help us. Molly’s had enough children that I’d think her mad if she couldn’t offer some decent advice. And, though I hate to admit it, Granger… Hermione has a good eye for logic. If she can’t offer advice, perhaps she can find us a book on parenting, or babies in general.” Draco had thought using Granger’s first name would help distract Harry from his fears. He had thought correctly. “You’re not alone in this. I’m right here with you, and I promise that I will do whatever I can to help. I’ll be fine here with Teddy while you work. He’ll keep me from being bored, I think.” It had crossed Draco’s mind just as quickly as he’d denied the thought, that Andromeda would be able to write to them and offer advice. He wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to speak in order to have letters written, so it was best not to bring that up. But that thought also reminded him that he needed to write to her before he went to bed, something he was eager to do after the exhaustion he’d settled into by sleeping on the sofa earlier.

“Thank you, Draco.” 

Draco had been about to reply when he found himself being pulled into a tighter embrace than they’d shared before. He could almost feel Harry’s desperation, his fear, his need for comfort. Draco was more than willing to offer the comfort, chase away the fear, and ease that desperation. He returned the hug with a fierce need to protect Harry and forced every bit of compassion as he could into it. It wasn’t difficult to feel the lifting and falling of Harry’s shoulders as he let his grief from the day out into the space where Draco’s neck and shoulder met. What was difficult was forcing himself not to kiss every one of those tears away and keep on hugging Harry. That was what he needed, and at that moment Draco thought that he would be willing to give Harry whatever he needed, as long as he kept clinging to him like this, like he was the only person in the world he could go to for comfort.

“I love you, Harry,” Draco whispered.

Harry’s soft and strained gasps and exhales paused only momentarily before resuming again. It didn’t go unnoticed that Harry’s arms tightened around him. Draco didn’t need to hear Harry say those words back to him; in his heart he had a feeling Harry felt the same. If he needed to take time before admitting it, Draco would wait. As long as it took, he would wait for Harry.

Eventually Harry had calmed down enough to release Draco and wipe his wet face on his sleeve. It was an action that Draco’s parents would’ve condemned, had they been there to see it. They weren’t, and Draco didn’t care if Harry’s tears ruined a nice shirt. He wasn’t his parents, and for the first time in months that revelation felt wonderful to admit.

“Are you alright for now?” Draco asked gently. Harry nodded, and this time Draco believed him. “I’m going to use your parchment to write to Andromeda, if you don’t mind. I want to keep her as updated as we can.”

“That’s fine.” Harry’s words were rough nettles, scraping against his throat, by the sounds of it. 

Draco could feel Harry’s eyes on his back as he crossed the room to the writing desk. In the drawer there he found parchment, inkpot, and quill, and set to work writing to his aunt. It wasn’t a long letter, but not much had happened. He supposed that was a good thing, in the end, since it hadn’t been very much time that they’d had Teddy with them. When he finished the letter he replaced the quill and inkpot, then moved to leave the room.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Draco said to Harry. “If you need me at any point between now and then, come get me.” Harry didn’t say anything, which Draco took as answer enough and turned to leave.

“Wait!” Harry called out after him. Draco turned back around and held the door frame, raising his eyebrows in question. “Can you… Please don’t go.” Harry’s mouth opened and shut, reminding Draco of a very melancholy fish. It would be wrong to laugh at a time like this, though, so he banished the image in his mind. “I don’t want to be alone.” His eyes flickered to Teddy’s crib and Draco understood.

“I’ll stay,” he said. Draco summoned his favorite pyjamas from his room and was selfishly thankful that Harry wasn’t in a joking mood. For some reason Harry really liked to tease him for wearing the shirt he’d forced Draco to get in the first place. 

Without caring who saw what, the two of them changed into their sleep wear. Harry climbed easily into his own bed, but Draco felt strange and stood beside the bed feeling gawky. When Harry rolled towards him and gave him a pleading look Draco was lost to it. Since when had he bent to the will of Harry’s gaze? He blamed being around Teddy for making him soft, but somewhere in his mind he knew that this had been coming on much longer than he’d been around Teddy.

Draco extinguished the lights in the room with a small flick of his wand and decided it didn’t matter. Of course it didn’t, once he lay beside Harry and curled his arm over his waist, pulling him close. Not many of his previous standards mattered these days, it seemed. Where once he would’ve spit in the faces of those who’d spoken Harry’s name fondly, he now felt he’d spit in the faces of those who didn’t. Or maybe he wouldn’t spit at all. Maybe he was beyond that sort of childish behaviour. Maybe it didn’t matter, he thought as he fell asleep listening to the thump of Harry’s heart against his rib cage.


	21. Patience and Other Virtues

_Aunt Andromeda,_

_I hope you’re feeling better today, or starting to. I can’t imagine the time you’re having in the hospital. Harry and I are settling in for the night, here at Grimmauld Place. He went shopping for Teddy while I stayed at home with him. Teddy slept the entire time Harry was gone, like an angel._

_I’m afraid Harry has gone completely baby-crazy, however. When he returned from the store it looked as though he’d spent half his Gringotts vault on baby things. It’ll probably all be needed, but imagine my surprise when he came back with almost two dozen bags._

_Teddy won’t want for anything while we have him. Harry transfigured a crib for Teddy to sleep in, which is sturdy and probably more comfortable than both mine and Harry’s beds combined. He’s sleeping in it now, and looks to be fine as far as I can tell._

_Harry and I are nervous. We’re glad you asked us to care for Teddy in your stead, but neither of us are sure how to act as parents. Not that we’re taking over for you, either, but… You understand. We have Molly Weasley to help us if we need someone, but I hoped that you could offer tips specific to Teddy’s routine and preferences._

_Hoping this letter finds you well,_

_Draco M._

 

Andromeda felt tears falling silently down her face as she gripped her copy of the letter. She requested that they duplicate all of the letters sent to her during her stay so that she could still keep the original copies once she was healthy. No one was able to come in or out of her room, and anything that was given to her appeared in the room on its own. It was complete and total isolation, and though Draco’s voice was not heard telling her these things it still felt incredibly personal. She could imagine the inflection in his voice as he explained Harry’s large purchase of baby things for Teddy. She could imagine Harry’s face tinting pink at Draco’s accusation that he’d bought to much. It didn’t need to be written in the letter, her overactive mind supplied the mental pictures for her. 

“Do you need anything?” Healer Julian’s voice echoed through her room. “Are you in any pain?” 

“I’m fine,” she said, wiping her tears from her swollen face. “Thank you.”

“You need only tell us if you are in pain, Mrs. Tonks. We’re here, should you need us. Even for company.” Andromeda smiled and nodded, though the feeling behind her grin wasn’t there. 

No matter how long it took, or how hard it was, she swore to herself that she wouldn’t let this be the death of her. Spattergroit or no, Andromeda was choosing life. 

“Would you like to send a reply?” Julian asked.

“I would.”

<>

 

Shrieking. That was the first thing Harry heard when he woke up. Not giving himself time to even put his glasses on, Harry leaped out of bed and went directly to Teddy’s crib, where he found his godson laying on his back kicking furiously at the air. His blanket had been kicked off, too, Harry saw.

“Teddy, good morning!” he whispered happily. He took Teddy out of his crib and held him firmly against his chest, running his hand through his bright orange hair. “Are you trying to become a Weasley?”

“Let’s hope not,” Draco said as he entered the room. “This world has too many of them already.” Harry rolled his eyes before looking up. 

“Can you make Teddy a bottle while I change his nappy?” 

“I just did,” he admitted. 

“Oh, well… thanks,” Harry said. Teddy began crying again. “Shh, shh, it’s okay.” He nervously bounced Teddy gently in his arms, trying to mimic the way he’d seen Andromeda do it before. It probably wasn’t right, but it seemed to help calm Teddy. “Did you check to make sure it’s the right temperature?”

“I’m not an idiot, Harry. Of course I checked.”

Draco crossed the room to meet Harry with the bottle, but Harry wanted to change Teddy’s nappy before he ate. He lay Teddy in the middle of his bed and summoned the box of nappies and wipes from the floor, along with a clean outfit from his dresser. When he opened Teddy’s nappy he found more than just wee in it and repressed the urge to gag at the sight and smell that greeted him. 

“Oh god.” He’d changed Teddy several times in the past, but never when there was poo involved. How did Andromeda do this constantly?

“Everything okay?” Draco asked. Harry could hear the sounds of liquid sloshing back and forth behind him as Draco shook the bottle some more. 

“Yep, fine.” Harry did his best to hold his breath, but the wipes were sealed and he needed to keep Teddy’s feet from dipping in the soiled nappy. It was difficult to concentrate on all of those things at once.

“You look like you could use a hand.” Draco set the bottle down next to Teddy and opened the wipes for Harry, pulling several out at once. 

“Thank you,” Harry wheezed, letting more of his air reserve go. As quickly as he could while still being thorough, Harry wiped Teddy’s bum. Teddy stared at him with a satisfied, toothless grin and Harry narrowed his eyes, wondering if Teddy thought his response was funny. 

Finally Teddy’s bum was clean enough to put another nappy on. Harry had no problems with that part, thankfully. 

“What are we supposed to do with the soiled ones?” Draco asked. Harry looked over and saw that Draco had a look of pure disgust on his sharp face. 

“Toss them in the bin, obviously.” _But then they’ll stink up the house,_ he realised. “Or I’ll just have Kreacher do something with them. He’s probably been alive long enough to have done it before.”

“Fair enough,” Draco said. “Can I feed him, now that you’ve done the dirty work?”

“You want to?” Harry hadn’t been expecting Draco to do these sort of things willingly. Harry used one of the discarded bags near his bed to wrap the dirty nappy in and set it called Kreacher to take care of it. Kreacher looked offended at the task he’d been asked to complete, but did it with no protests. 

“I really liked feeding him,” Draco muttered finally, as though he was ashamed to admit it. 

“That’s fine, it’ll give me a chance to write to Kingsley,” Harry said as he watched Draco pick Teddy up tenderly. Teddy’s mouth rooted for the nipple of the bottle, causing both Harry and Draco to chuckle softly. Then Teddy’s hair changed to a soft shade of brown. Harry wondered if that had been the colour of his hair when he’d been born. It did remind Harry a lot of Remus’ hair. “We’ll give him a bath after he’s finished eating.”

Draco’s face lit up at Harry’s proposal. Harry stifled the urge to kiss Draco, knowing that it would only distract him from the letter he had to write. Though he knew Kingsley wouldn’t be upset with him for taking time off, he also knew that he would fall drastically behind in training, which would probably give Dawlish the incentive to push him harder than before. Harry promised himself that if things got so bad that he was injured on the job it would be his last straw; he would talk to Kingsley about Dawlish’ behaviour. He’d been tempted to already, multiple times, but told himself that he was simply overreacting, that he could handle whatever Dawlish threw his way. 

Forcing his mind to clear in order to write a proper letter, Harry bent down over his writing desk. Without the stool he felt his back protesting the action. Perhaps training had been harder on him than he’d thought. He ignored the pain in his lower back and wrote a brief, but explanatory letter to Kingsley requesting one week’s leave. It was important to him to mention that it would be unpaid, too, or he felt Kingsley may accuse him of asking too much. 

“He’s holding my hand, Harry,” Draco said in awe. Harry finished signing the letter and turned to look. Teddy was, in fact, holding Draco’s index finger, but it was still one of the cutest things Harry had witnessed. Draco beamed down at Teddy and whispered sweet things and made raspberry noises with his lips. 

“Who are you and what have you done to Draco?” Harry asked in mock fear. That earned him a typical Draco Malfoy glare, icy eyes and all. “You two are adorable.” The glare narrowed and became more pointed. Harry decided it would be best for him to stop talking, but didn’t prevent the laugh that escaped his mouth first. 

There was a peck at Harry’s window and he saw that an owl was awaiting entry. He crossed the room and opened it, took the letter, and the owl flew off. Looking at the front of the letter he saw it was from St. Mungo’s and tried to keep his heart from beating out of his chest. This could be good news, he told himself. 

“Is that from Andromeda?” Draco asked, looking briefly away from Teddy’s small face to make eye contact with Harry. It was then that Harry remembered Draco had written a letter for Andromeda the previous night.

“Did you already send your letter?”

“Nearly an hour ago, yeah. It’s probably from her, no need to worry.” Harry wondered briefly how Draco had been able to tell he was worried in the first place. 

Instead of asking, Harry simply opened the letter. There was a note at the top letting him and Draco know that, although Andromeda had not written the letter herself, they had copied it down word for word. 

 

_Draco and Harry,_

_I’m so very glad that the two of you are settling nicely with Teddy. I hope he’s comfortable with you both. It’s going to be a huge change for the three of you, living together, but I think you both have every capability to be excellent parental substitutes for him while I’m unable to be there for him._

_Harry, please don’t be afraid. I’ve seen the way you interact with Teddy. I’ve seen how taken you and Draco both are with him. Draco has assured me that you’ve taken great effort to prepare yourselves for his stay with you, and that, along with what I’ve personally witnessed, is enough to tell me that you both will do well with Teddy. I wouldn’t have asked the two of you to care for him if I had any doubts as to whether you could or not._

_As for Teddy’s preferences, he hasn't got many. He’s very young, so attention and love are the things he needs most. You both already know how to feed him and, Harry, you know how to change him. He usually showers with me, but he’ll do just fine with a bath in the sink or a very shallow bath in the tub, so long as you support him and take great care not to let him slip from your hands. Once soap is added, babies become rather slippery._

_It is comforting to know that Molly will be there to help the two of you through this. I have faith in her parenting capabilities._

_I want to thank the two of you, from the bottom of my heart, for doing this for Teddy and me. I don’t know how long this will last, but I know that the three of you will be just fine. If my illness takes away my ability to speak I urge you to ask the healers for advice in my stead. Many of them are parents and know the more intricate details of child care._

_Love to you both,_

_Andromeda_

 

Harry felt the overwhelming urge to cry at the sight of her letter. Andromeda’s absolute lack of doubt in him was astounding. He’d had no idea she felt so strongly and his fears were greatly eased to see the words she had asked to be written. The mention of Spattergroit taking away her ability to speak worried Harry. Nobody had mentioned that. He supposed Draco had tried to tell him last night, but he hadn’t wanted to discuss it then. 

“What does it say?” Draco asked, only sounding mildly impatient. Harry walked to him and handed the letter over. “Here, can you burp him? I’d rather not get puke on my clothes.” Harry scoffed, but gladly took Teddy from him and summoned one of the swaddling cloths to use as a burp cloth.

Placing Teddy on his shoulder Harry began patting his back. His eyes stayed on Draco, though, and he saw the way his hands tightened on the edges of the letter. Teddy burped at the same time that Draco exhaled roughly. Harry no longer wondered how upset Draco was about his aunt being ill. It was clear in his white knuckles and his ragged breathing. Harry couldn’t offer Draco physical comfort as both hands were busy holding and thumping burps from Teddy. He could try to comfort him in a different way, the same way Draco had comforted him the night before.

“You have family who loves you,” Harry said softly. Draco looked up from the letter and met his eyes. 

“I know that now. I hope that includes you, too.” Harry gave Draco a heartfelt smile that he hoped said yes. Draco didn’t press him for more than he was willing to say. 

The words Draco had said just the previous night with little trouble were etched into Harry’s mind and he struggled to keep from feeling guilty for not returning them. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel that way for Draco, it was just that he’d only ever said those words to Ginny before. Though he didn’t still feel that way about her, he wanted to be sure that he meant them completely before he said them to Draco. He didn’t want to fool himself, or let himself fool Draco. It was still pretty early in their relationship, and now they had a baby to take care of. If he was being completely honest, Harry was afraid that this would be too much for Draco, that he wouldn’t want to feel tied down like an actual couple with a child could be. 

If he were to tell Draco he loved him, only for Draco to end up leaving, Harry wouldn’t know how to cope with it. He _could_ cope with it; he would have to. He just wanted to soften the blow as much as possible in case that ever did happen. Telling Draco that he loved him would not soften the blow if he ended up leaving. 

“I meant what I said last night,” Draco said, breaking Harry away from his thoughts. Harry knew that was true. “You don’t have to return the favour yet, if you’re not ready. Just… know that I meant it.”

“Thank you.” What else could he say? 

“You’re welcome. And thank _you._ ”

“Why am I being thanked?” 

“For not feeling like you have to tell me you love me, or for lying if that’s not really how you feel. I don’t need to hear you say that until you’re ready, and I already decided last night that I don’t care how long it takes for you to say those words.”

Harry’s breath caught in his throat. He quit patting Teddy’s back and cradled him in his arms. How could he tell Draco that he did think he felt that way for him without telling him word for word that he loved him? Hearing Draco say that he was willing to wait made his fears seem less important. Harry still wasn’t ready to say it back yet, even with Draco’s promise for patience.

“Why don’t we give Teddy a bath?” Draco suggested, saving Harry from further discomfort. 

“I’d really like that.”

 

<>

 

Several days passed with no incidences. Draco had become just as efficient as Harry at changing nappies, bathing, feeding, and taking care of Teddy in general. The two of them were feeling really confident about things. Teddy seemed to have adjusted, though he’d begun waking up in the middle of the night to eat. Draco and Harry took turns getting up with him and making sure he got back to sleep. This meant that Draco and Harry had also slept together each night. It was something they were now getting used to, having someone to hold and cuddle throughout the night. Of course, they hadn’t done anything more than cuddle with Teddy in the same room, but that was fine with them. They were really beginning to feel like a successful makeshift family.

That is, until Harry got out of the shower one day and heard Draco shouting his name in panic.

Nearly slipping and falling on wet tile, Harry tugged a towel around his waist and tried to fasten it there, but he’d grabbed one of Teddy’s by mistake. It was too small, of course, but he didn’t have time to grab a different one. 

“ _HARRY!_ ”

“I’m coming!” Harry shouted back as he ran down the hall and down the stairs to the drawing room, where he thought Draco’s voice was coming from. 

Harry flung the doors open and stopped in his tracks. Draco was sitting on the sofa, holding Teddy at arm’s length, his face twisted in a terrible grimace. Harry couldn’t tell immediately what the problem was, so he asked.

“What’s wrong with Teddy? Why were you screaming?”

“Will you look at his legs?” Draco shouted. 

Teddy laughed, his hair turned purple, and Harry noticed that poo was smeared down his legs. His stretch and grow was stained around his bottom and up his back a bit. Harry also noticed that some of Teddy’s mess had gotten on Draco’s trousers, staining nearly an entire thigh. It couldn’t be helped. Harry sputtered and laughed so hard that he nearly let the towel around his waist slip.

“This isn’t fucking funny!” Draco was glaring furiously at Harry, but Harry didn’t notice. He was doubled over laughing, his abs in pain from the strength of his amusement. “Will you please _help me?_ ” Draco’s voice was quiet, harsh, and cold, with a distinct edge of desperation around the edges. There was nothing pleasant to Harry in hearing him speak that way, so he did his best to stop laughing as well as he could. It took an immense amount of effort. 

“Okay, okay, I’ll help you,” Harry said, wiping tears from his eyes. “Bring him to the loo.”

Draco followed Harry back up the stairs to his loo, still holding Teddy away from him and making gagging sounds now and then, probably when he couldn’t hold his breath any longer. Once in the loo, Harry discreetly traded Teddy’s towel for a larger one and then did his best to get Teddy’s clothes off of him without getting his hands too dirty. 

“What are we going to do with him?” Draco asked in a thick, clogged sounding way. He was still holding his nose, as it seemed.

“Bathe him. Well, I’m probably going to have to get in with him.” Harry turned the shower back on and took Teddy from Draco. 

“Good, I’m going to throw these trousers away and shower, myself. I feel filthy.”

“Probably because you are,” Harry laughed. Draco hummed angrily and stood up as straight as he could, in what he most likely thought was a dignified manner. To Harry it looked ridiculous, however; it’s difficult to look proud when you’ve got shit on your trousers.

Draco glared at Harry for a moment before leaving that bathroom, allowing him to hop into the shower with Teddy. It hadn’t ever occurred to Harry that he might have to shower with his godson, but there was a large part of him that felt truly fatherly about doing so. Teddy was simple enough to rinse off. Harry had done the same as Draco had and held him at arm’s length under the stream of warm water until he could no longer see traces of brown in the water or on Teddy. Then he washed Teddy while holding him. Teddy seemed absolutely content, relaxing under the gentle fall of water. His hair turned a lovely shade of violet. It made Harry feel so proud to know that he could make Teddy feel so comfortable.

After Teddy was completely cleaned off and beginning to get restless, Harry turned the water off and got out of the shower. He wrapped Teddy in one of his towels and wrapped his own around his hips, then set off to get Teddy clean clothes.

“Let’s not have a repeat of that any time soon, alright Teddy?” he asked the infant. Teddy kicked his legs and put his fist in his mouth, apparently not willing or able to agree to such terms. 

 

<>

 

It was the first day Harry had gone back to work. Draco had done his absolute best not to seem nervous or afraid, but the truth was that he was both. He had never spent extended periods of time alone with Teddy and wasn’t sure how well it would go without Harry’s help. Harry had told him to write to him should he need him to come home for some reason, but Draco still worried that in the time it would take for a letter to arrive something bad could’ve happened. If he could only cast a Patronus and send a message along with it the way Harry had when he’d asked them to meet. That would surely be faster. But Draco didn’t know how to cast a Patronus. He didn’t know how to make it send a message, either. If he were to tell Harry this, Harry would probably pity him and Draco didn’t think he could bear that. Draco decided not to bring up the subject with Harry before he left for work that day, and instead smiled and kissed him goodbye.

As if Harry had been the peacekeeper holding Teddy’s calm demeanor in place, Teddy cried nearly all day. Draco tried everything he could think of to get Teddy to stop; burping, a soothing bath, feeding, nappy change, playing with toys, even singing━ something he _never_ did in front of others. None of it worked. Teddy was intent on screaming, it seemed, and Draco was at his wits end. Of course this would happen on his first day alone with Teddy. Of course he couldn’t catch a real break.

So, in his desperation, he placed Teddy safely in his crib and asked Kreacher to keep an eye on him while Draco went to Floo Molly. It wasn’t an emergency, so he didn’t feel he needed Harry to miss more work, but he did need help. He caught a glimpse of the Weasley’s sitting room and expected to see Molly on the other end, but was instead greeted with the sight of a surprised Weaselbee.

“Malfoy━ what do you want?” Weasley stuttered. 

“I need Molly’s help,” Draco started, ignoring the distaste he felt at asking Weasley for his mother’s help. “Where is she?”

“Listen, if this is some sort of trap I won’t stand for it,” Weasley began. Draco didn’t give him a chance to complete that thought, however.

“I need her help, Teddy won’t stop crying and I don’t know what to do.” Weasley blinked several times and disappeared from the flames, leaving Draco with the sight of the badly decorated sitting room. Soon enough Molly came into view and kneeled before her fireplace.

“What’s this about Teddy?” she asked with a rather confused expression. “Do you mean Teddy Lupin?”

“Yes, I’ll explain everything, but please just come over,” Draco pleaded. He’d refrained from begging Molly’s youngest son, but he was closer to Molly and needed to get across to her how important it was she come quickly.

“Okay,” Molly agreed, still sounding uncertain. “I’ll be over in a moment.” 

He removed his head from the flames and stepped back. A moment later, Molly appeared in a burst of emerald flames and stepped out into the kitchen. 

“Now Draco, what is the issue? You seem in a fuss.” Draco shook his head impatiently.

“It’s not me that’s in a fuss, it’s Teddy. I can’t get him to stop crying and I’ve no idea what to do. I’ve checked his nappy, given him a bottle...” He wasn’t going to mention singing.

“But— Teddy… Why—?” Draco shook away her questions and hurried out of the room, gesturing for her to follow.

“Andromeda’s fallen ill and she left Teddy with Harry and I, but I hardly know anything about taking care of a baby and I’m way over my head,” he explained to her as they climbed the staircase to Harry’s room. 

“She’s ill? With what?” Molly asked after a gasp.

“Spattergroit,” Draco told her. Another gasp came from Molly and she picked up the pace behind him.

Molly went to the crib in Harry’s room and didn’t hesitate at all before picking Teddy up. Draco noticed Kreacher quickly escape the room with hands held over his large, flopping ears. Maybe it was the presence of a new face, or Molly’s experience with babies, but Teddy immediately stopped crying once he was held in her arms. His hair gradually went from stark white to the soft brown it turned to when he was content. Draco felt a pang of jealousy and relief all at once. Why hadn’t he been able to stop Teddy crying and all Molly had to do was hold him? Draco had held him, rocked him, patted his back. None of it had made any difference. 

“Now, now, Teddy,” Molly said sweetly. She kissed his forehead as though he were her own child and a strange feeling seeped into Draco’s heart. Like a cross between nostalgia and despair. Relief was still there, still prodding his mind at the quiet Molly had induced in Teddy. “You’re giving your cousin quite a hard time, aren’t you? I think it’s time we sat and had a talk.” Molly looked up at Draco and winked. “All three of us.”

Draco nodded and led the way back down to the drawing room. He and Molly sat side by side on one of the sofas. Molly was still focusing her attention on Teddy, curling one lock of his hair around her finger lovingly. Longing, that’s what Draco was feeling. Longing. He longed for a delicate touch such as this from his own mother. He longed for her to set aside her petty views and accept him. There was so much he longed for…

“How are you feeling, Draco?” Draco blinked at Molly’s question. 

“I’m feeling… a lot,” he replied, trying his best to sound composed. 

“Can you give me one of those feelings?” 

Draco tried to think, to dissect the emotions flowing through him like cream in a mug of tea. “Stressed,” he decided first. Though he and Molly were a lot closer than he’d ever seen them being, he didn’t feel like disclosing to her that he suddenly missed his mother.

“I can understand that. What’s causing you to stress, besides Teddy’s crying, that is?” That question led straight back to his feelings about his mother. Perhaps that topic was unavoidable after all. Still not wanting to discuss precisely what he felt about his mother, he took another route.

“How can I be a good influence on Teddy when I had, well… my parents as parents?” Molly’s face softened visibly. She took one hand from Teddy’s hair and patted Draco’s shoulder.

“It’s all about your choices, what you do differently from them. Teddy’s so very young, now, and I’m sure that even if you were more like your parents you wouldn’t influence him negatively before Andromeda has him in her custody again.” Draco took this in. He’d been thinking about this situation as permanent without really meaning to. Molly was right, and it looked as though she knew that. “What else is bothering you, Draco? I can see there’s something more.” 

Draco decided he probably owed Weaselbee an apology. His mother was too perceptive for her own good and Draco found himself pitying any of her children who tried to keep secrets in that household. Realistically he thought he’d rather be in one of Longbottom’s Potions mishaps than apologise to Weasley, but he could still feel bad for him in the privacy of his mind. 

“You can tell me,” Molly said, interrupting his thoughts. “I won’t go back to Harry and tell him, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I can’t cast a Patronus,” he mumbled, deciding again not to talk about his mother. “If something happens to Teddy, I’m afraid an owl won’t be fast enough. I know Harry can cast a Patronus and send messages with it, but I can’t.” Just as he’d been afraid Harry would, Molly looked at him with pity. “You don’t have to look at me like that. I just haven’t practiced is all.” Molly’s smile was a sad one.

“I can show you. You have to promise me you won’t abuse the knowledge I’m going to share with you, though. Can you do that?” Draco tried his very best not to get offended. After his long history of being untrustworthy this was a huge step for Molly to take. He nodded tightly. “Alright, now where is your baby swing?”

“A baby swing?” Draco didn’t know how a baby swing had anything to do with casting a Patronus.

“Don’t tell me you don’t have one,” she chided. “That is essential in keeping hair on your head when you’ve got a baby to care for.” Molly took her wand from her robes and quickly transfigured the throw pillow beside her into an infant swing. Then she kissed Teddy once more and buckled him into it, casting a charm that would keep the seat gently rocking. 

“That’s brilliant,” Draco breathed. How had Harry not bought one of these at the store? Well, Harry wasn’t exactly a parent, so he wouldn’t know, Draco told himself. 

“Yes, well. One doesn’t have seven children and not know how to calm an infant,” she said as she smoothed her robes. “Now, take your wand.” Draco did. “Have you got a happy memory? A memory that outshines all the rest?” Draco stifled his sneer. Of course he had happy memories. More now than he’d had before he lived with Harry, even. 

“I do,” was all he said, and again tried to sound calm. He thought of the first time he’d held Teddy, the love he’d felt in that moment sticking out to him beyond all else. 

“Focus deeply on that memory, on the feelings you had during that memory. Let yourself feel that once more.”

“Oooo,” Teddy said from his swing. 

Draco smiled and closed his eyes. He pictured the way Teddy had stared up at him, like he was the only person in the whole world who was worthy of his attention. He remembered the way Teddy’s fingers had reached towards his face from beyond his bottle. He felt the love, that fierce protective love, coursing through his blood. When Draco opened his eyes again he thought he was ready.

“I can see you’ve got that part done,” Molly commended. “Now move your wand like this and say _‘expecto patronum.’_ ”

“ _Expecto patronum,_ ” Draco said, swishing his wand the way Molly had instructed. Nothing happened. 

“A very good first try!” How could she tell? Nothing had happened. And how did she know this was his first attempt?

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Draco said, lowering his wand.

“Thinking like that will ensure you never can.” Molly stepped closer and held his wrist loosely. “You need to believe in yourself, the way Harry believes in you.” She paused. “The way I can already see Andromeda does, and I’m beginning to.” Draco looked into the sweet brown eyes staring at him and knew she wasn’t just saying this to make him feel better. “Now try again.”

Draco did, too many times to count. He tried, and tried, and practiced, and practiced some more. Molly was nothing but supportive the entire time, but he still hadn’t managed to produce anything more than a frail, silver strand from the end of his wand. It looked like glowing snot. He genuinely hoped that wasn’t his Patronus, but he knew that it had to be an animal and not the drippings from someone’s nose. Sighing, he sat down on the sofa and stared at Teddy, wondering if he would ever figure it out. If Teddy’s love━ or rather, his love for Teddy━ wasn’t enough, what was?

“Why don’t you try another memory,” Molly suggested, yet again causing Draco to feel as though his mind had been read. “Maybe you’ve got one that will work better?”

Draco didn’t know whether he had a better memory than that, but he tried anyway. This time he thought about the time he and Harry had played piano together, their fingers brushing, the butterflies in his stomach that threatened to turn real and fly from his mouth. He could hear the clumsy notes in his mind and felt himself chuckling beneath his breath.

And he tried again. This time, he saw that the stream from his wand was desperately trying to form something. And then it didn’t. Draco couldn’t be bothered with feeling upset, though. He’d nearly done it!

“Very well done,” Molly said, sounding rather impressed. “You know it takes some people weeks or months to learn to cast a Patronus. Some never do. You must be a very talented wizard to cast a Patronus. You’ll get there, Draco.”

“I think I can, too,” Draco said. He felt confident about this for the first time since he’d started practicing. Looking over at Teddy Draco realised he’d fallen asleep in his swing, which was still rocking at a nice pace. He must’ve been practicing longer than he’d realised.

“That’s probably enough practice for one day, though.” Molly sat down and Draco followed suit. “Now. There was something else you’ve been avoiding telling me.” Poor, poor Weasley, Draco thought as he also felt sorry for himself. How did this woman know everything? Draco was beginning to think she was worse than his own mother at needling information out of people.

Draco sighed and sat down next to Molly. There was no point in avoiding it any longer, apparently, as she was just going to find some way to force him to explain himself. Though Draco was loathe to admit it, he was intimidated by Molly Weasley.

“I… I miss my mother.” Draco swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat that was causing him to sound more like a child than he already did. “Seeing the way you handle Teddy, it just makes me miss her. I wish she and I could be close again.”

“Oh, dear.” Molly took Draco into a full-on hug, pressing him tightly to her comfortable chest. Draco hugged her back and was unable to avoid inhaling her comforting scent. It was a mixture of lilacs and dish soap. “Dear, dear,” Molly said, as if that was now the only word she knew. “Your mother sure has done a number on you, hasn’t she?”

Draco didn’t know how to respond, but hugged Molly tighter. For a moment he could almost pretend it was his own mother he was holding, and was holding him. That moment passed quickly; his mother was much bonier and stiff than Molly. Her hugs brought about a sense of security while his mother’s hugs had typically felt formal, regardless of the situation. At least, once he’d become a teenager.

“Perhaps one day she’ll realise what she’s missing out on, being so stubborn.” Molly released Draco and patted his cheek softly. “If she doesn’t, she may never see what a fine son she’s raised.”

“Th-thank you,” Draco stuttered. He’d never thought he’d hear Molly say something like that to him. Not in his entire life. 

“No need.” Molly stood up. “I’d best be going, though. Ron will think the worst if I don’t go home and prove I’m not in any trouble with you.” She rolled her eyes and chuckled. “He’ll come around eventually, he just needs to get past his old prejudices and see that you’ve truly changed.” Draco didn’t bother telling Molly that he didn’t think Weasley would ever come around to him. 

“I really appreciate you helping me today,” Draco said instead, glancing at Teddy. “I was starting to go mad, I think.”

“Ah, the life of a parent.” Molly’s words fit neatly within her sigh. “Or guardian, in your case. You’ll get used to it before long. And please, don’t hesitate to call on me if you need any help at all. He is such a beautiful child, and I don’t mind spending time with the two of you at all.” Her gaze lingered happily on Teddy’s sleeping face for a moment before she waved and left the room. 

Draco found himself feeling tired as well, and as much as he didn’t want to disturb Teddy, he thought that sleeping in the swing may not be such a good idea. He took Teddy gently from the swing and brought him up to Harry’s room where he lay him down in his crib. Then Draco lay in Harry’s bed and napped along with his cousin. 

 

<>

 

This day was no different from the many that had passed since Narcissa had come home. The elves continued to serve as though no time had been spent without their master, the manor was again filled with the elegant, expensive, and precious belongings the Ministry had taken in their search, and her bed was only slightly more lonely now than it had been the last time she’d slept in it. Really, not much was different. 

Why, then, did she feel so empty? It hadn’t been difficult to refrain from thinking of her son, not when thoughts of his ‘lover’ and the revenge she was planning filled her head. Why was it so difficult, today, to keep her mind from Draco? Narcissa set the _Prophet_ aside on the fossilized lava rock table she sat before and sipped her tea. What was so different about today that prevented her from going about her business as usual? Thoughts of how her son might be faring intruded on the usually organised cave of Narcissa’s mind. Was he happy where he was, with that insolent fool? Was he eating enough? Was he lonely? Did he miss her? 

That was, perhaps, the most difficult thought to process. Narcissa’s eyes pinched closed momentarily, a soundless breath passed between her lips. It did not matter. There were more important things to worry about than whether or not her adult son had difficulty in his chosen life. It was a life she never would’ve steered him towards, never would’ve encouraged. She had no business caring what happened to him now that he had openly challenged her, but if she truly didn’t care she wouldn’t be taking the measures she was now. Draco needed her guidance, her wisdom, her protection. Draco needed his mother. 

As she came to that conclusion, Narcissa quietly excused herself from her personal dining table and willed herself to complete the layout of her revenge. A simple plan, really, one that wouldn’t be traced back to her if she went about it correctly. And she would. There could be no failure where this was concerned. Harry Potter would rue the day he corrupted her son. Looking down at the papers that could only be seen by her eyes, Narcissa knew she was close to the finalised plan. There was one person she needed to contact before things could be set in motion, before she could have her son back. 

A smile that would be seen as contemplative by anyone who didn’t know her spread across her mouth as she wrote a delicately worded letter. Were her husband or son here to see that smile, she knew they would know precisely what it meant. Lucius would ask what had upset her. Her son would avert his gaze and pretend he hadn’t seen anything. Neither was there to see it, however, as she wrote to the person who owed her more than a life-debt: Azalea Zabini. 

 

<>

 

“Fuck,” Harry muttered as he looked down at the thick, cream coloured paper in his hand, as well as the swirling writing that seemed to mock him. The invitation had come floating down to him from one of the many owls flying overhead in the Atrium of the Ministry and landed directly in his shirt collar. “Fuck…” Nothing doing; no matter how many times he said fuck aloud or in his mind, the invitation to the upcoming Ministry Christmas party would not disappear. For some reason, regardless of the comfort seeing the allowance for a plus-one offered him, Harry had a feeling it wouldn’t be something Draco would want to do and he had the distinct feeling he’d be attending alone. 

Shaking his head, tucking the invitation into his trouser pocket, and ignoring the dread curling in his stomach, Harry headed to the Floo room and decided it would be best to just tell Draco about the party and get it over with all the sooner. So he’d be going alone, how bad could that really be? As he wiped soot from his clothes and stepped from the fireplace in the kitchen of Number 12, Harry saw that it was deserted. Sighing in relief, he set about making tea. If anything would make what he was about to do less awkward, it would be tea. 

Harry sat down at the kitchen table and closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair. The sounds of the empty kitchen were comforting, the sound of water bubbling in the kettle reminded him of being at the Burrow during the quieter hours of the days leading up to Christmas. Not that there were many, but he relished those times when all that could be heard was the soft wind against the window panes, the bubbling of the kettle, and the creaking of the house settling all around him. 

“How long have you been home?” Draco’s voice interrupted Harry’s daydreaming and caused his eyes to snap open. At the same time, the kettle began whistling loudly behind him. 

“Just long enough to make tea,” Harry replied in what he hoped was a calm manner. His anxiety about the Christmas party would not cease and as he stood to steep some leaves in the boiling water he told himself he’d imagined the look of suspicion on Draco’s face. 

“Did something happen today?” 

“No,” Harry said too quickly. “Just…” Sighing, Harry pulled the invitation from his pocket and sent it soaring over his shoulder in Draco’s general direction. Several moments passed in silence as Harry watched the colour of the water in the teapot change from clear to murky amber. 

“I’m not going,” Draco said firmly. Harry’s lips pinched together in a line of disappointment, though he had already assumed that would be Draco’s reply. 

“So I’d thought,” he mumbled, apparently not quiet enough.

“You knew I’d say no?” Harry poured two cups of tea and brought them to the table, setting one in front of his disgruntled boyfriend-not-party-date. 

“What else would you have said, ‘I just can’t wait to be put on display in front of all those gossip-mongers at the Ministry?’” Harry laughed dryly. “No, I doubt that. As soon as I saw the invitation I knew I’d be going alone.”

“Well…” For a moment, Draco looked as though he felt ashamed of his hasty decision, but then his expression turned into one of forced nonchalance. “Do you _have_ to go?”

“I can’t very well _not_ go, not after the favour Kingsley’s done for me by letting me take work off. I wouldn’t feel right about it.”

“Can you take someone else?” Draco’s look of nonchalance was quickly changing to one of desperation. “Couldn’t… Couldn’t you take Weasley, or… or Granger?” Harry scoffed.

“Sure, and have the papers spouting rubbish about how I’m cheating on you, that’ll be great. Listen, it’s okay. I can manage a few hours of small talk and whatever else on my own.” 

“Fine, if you’re going to twist my arm about it, I’ll go,” Draco said, folding his arms across his chest and looking harassed. 

“I’m not twisting anything, but… it would be really nice if you did go with me.” Harry felt bad saying it, but it was true. He would feel a lot better if Draco was there with him braving the mass questions he’s sure to get from the many Ministry employees just dying to know what he’s been doing since the war. 

As Draco’s face softened and he turned to face Harry, a twinge of delight twitched somewhere in his abdomen. “I’ll go with you, but on one condition.” A smirk lifted the corner of Draco’s lips. 

“Oh god…”

“Is that an agreement?”

“I’d need to hear what your condition is first,” Harry muttered. 

“You have to wear the outfit with the braces,” Draco demanded in a low voice, his grey eyes twinkling with repressed laughter. 

“Only if you wear your dragon shirt.”

“No, that’s not how this works. I’m doing a great and noble thing by even attending the function in the first place, so I’m the one who gets to make demands. Not you.”

“Is that so?” Harry had to try very, very hard to stifle the bark of a laugh his lungs seemed to want to throw out, but he managed somehow. “In that case, I think I’ll go alone and wear something that won’t cause my dignity to suffer so badly.” At Draco’s sound of outrage Harry’s efforts not to laugh failed entirely.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” Draco snapped, though the bite wasn’t there at all. “When is this awful thing happening, anyway?”

“Didn’t you read the invitation?”

“Not entirely, just up until the words ‘Annual Ministry Christmas Celebration.’ It was too much to bear beyond that.” _Drama queen,_ Harry thought to himself with a soft chuckle. 

“It’s in three days. And if it means so much to you I’ll wear that stupid outfit.”

“And you’ll let me do your hair.” It wasn’t a question, but Harry shook his head and rolled his eyes anyway. 

“That wasn’t part of the bargain, but whatever.” With Draco’s uncharacteristically gleeful squeak across from him Harry felt like he was the one getting the short end of the stick.


	22. Prim and Improper

Three days later Harry found himself standing in front of the mirror, all dressed in his ridiculous party outfit, getting his hair pulled this way and that by a nervous Draco while Molly stood in the doorway holding Teddy and commentating. 

“Are you sure you want to part his hair there, Draco dear? He looks a bit—”

“I know what I’m doing,” Draco said absently, interrupting what Harry was sure was about to be a gently phrased insult to his hairline. “You don’t get as far in life as I have without knowing how to properly style hair.”

“And how far is that?” Harry asked, directly followed by a wince as Draco tugged his hair sharply at the back of his neck. 

“Hush, or I’ll let you go to the party looking like Severus Snape.” 

Stifling a giggle with little success, Molly opined, “Surely his hair’s not that long yet. Though you do look as though you could use a hair cut rather soon, Harry; it’s almost to your collar.”

“I like my hair, thanks,” Harry grumbled and winced once again as Draco ran the sharp-toothed comb through his hair some more. “Except right now… I’d rather go bald than let you do this in the future.”

“You’ll be thanking me when nobody comments on your usual bed-head look,” Draco fired back with more passion than Harry believed should be directed towards styling hair. “Alright,” he said as he let his hands fall to his hips, his eyes scrutinising every possible hair out of place. “I believe I’m finished. Now don’t touch your hair, or do that thing you do where you mess it all up running your hands through it.” 

“Can I look now?” Harry asked, curious despite his lack of appreciation for having his hair ripped all over the place. At Draco’s nod Harry turned around to face the mirror, which thankfully didn’t talk or it probably would’ve given a wolf-whistle fit to embarrass him for the remainder of the evening. 

“What do you think?” Draco wondered, and Harry would’ve had to be deaf not to hear the anxiety in his question.

Pausing to take in the chosen style, Harry looked over his rearranged curls with slight awe. He’d never seen his hair look so… orderly. Draco had brushed his hair back from his forehead, exposing his lightning bolt scar, but surprisingly Harry didn’t mind. His dark curls framed his face in a way that sharpened his jaw and made his eyes look less tired. He looked his age, for once, instead of five years— at least— older. 

“You’re not saying anything…” As Draco’s shoulders slump downward Harry realised he’d stayed silent too long.

“I love it, it looks really great,” he assured his dejected looking boyfriend-party-date. “I might just let you do this again, actually.”

“You look so handsome, Harry!” Molly cheered. “Look, Teddy! Look at your godfather, isn’t he just dashing?” Teddy blew a spit bubble and kicked his legs against Molly’s stomach, not having much of an opinion at all. “Now both of you go, you’ll be late if you dilly-dally any longer.” 

Shooing both Harry and Draco out of the room, Molly then retreated to the nursery with Teddy. The two men went down the stairs to the kitchen and before Harry could even attempt to grab a handful of Floo powder Draco slapped his hand away from the jar. 

“What was that for?” Harry complained, rubbing the back of his hand as if it actually hurt. 

“On second thought, we shouldn’t Floo. We’ll ruin our outfits and that will absolutely not make for a grand entrance.” Harry rolled his eyes. 

“At first you didn’t even want to go and now you’re talking about grand entrances?” But he followed Draco back up the stairs toward the front door anyway. 

As they came to a sickening halt outside of the Ministry, Harry realised it was probably a good thing they did not Floo after all. There was an invitation checker at the doors, which made Harry panic at the thought they he may have left theirs at home.

“Before you even ask, yes I did bring the invitation,” Draco said in a chiding voice. “It’s a wonder you ever kept anything organised without me around.” 

Refusing to respond to the half-arsed insult, Harry put his arm through Draco’s offered one and together they moved to the back of the long line of guests. He hadn’t expected so many people to show up, but then again he hadn’t given it much thought. The Ministry had countless departments and probably three times as many employees at the very least. 

“Harry,” Draco started, but then stopped. 

“What’s wrong? You’re not getting cold feet now, are you? We’re already—”

“No, I just thought I saw… someone. It’s nothing.” Harry’s brows tilted toward the centre of his forehead, but he didn’t ask any further questions. 

“Look! It’s Neville and… Some bloke? I didn’t know Neville liked blokes.” Draco’s scoff came right beside Harry’s ear. 

“Really, you never considered that a possibility? His Hogwarts girlfriend track record was practically nonexistent.” Before Harry could respond there’s a shout from behind him.

“Harry! Harry Potter!” Turning around, Harry spotted several reporters, all carrying cameras of varying size. 

“And so it begins,” Draco muttered. 

“Can we get a picture?” One of the reporters, a small man who painfully reminded Harry of Colin Creevey, asked. “Only I wasn’t expecting you to be here today and this would _really_ help jumpstart my career as a reporter.” 

“I— erm… I suppose so,” Harry answered, unable to say no to the man. 

“Excellent! Just act naturally, and if you could step a bit closer to Mr. Malfoy there…” He trailed off as he gazed at them through the camera, one eye squinched closed. “Perfect! Smile, if you would.” Harry smiled and hoped he didn’t look too uncomfortable as the flash went off and a burst of purple smoke came billowing from the camera. “Just great, thank you so much, Mr. Potter. Er… could I ask you a few questions, please?”

“You got your picture, you slimy bastard, now move along!” another reporter shouted as he tried to shove the Colin look-alike out of the way. 

“Excuse me, but I’ll only be taking questions from this man here,” Harry said, conjuring what authority he could. “I don’t take questions from rude reporters, thank you.” _The rest of you can bugger off,_ he nearly added aloud before he remembered himself. 

“Nicely done,” Draco commented quietly at his side. 

“Didn’t want a sodding interview with you anyhow,” the rude reporter grumbled as he stalked away. The other one glanced back and forth between Harry and the Colin look-alike, but rather than fighting for her chance at an interview simply walked away as well. 

“Now that’s taken care of, what questions can I answer for you?” Harry asked calmly, hoping the reporter would take it easy on him. 

Thankfully, the reporter did go easy on Harry and Draco both, along with making the long wait for the line to move more bearable. He asked questions ranging from how the two of them were planning to spend Christmas, who they hoped to meet at the party, to how long they’d been together and if they were happy as a couple. Over all, Harry found that he didn’t mind the reporter at all and appreciated that his questions were simple to answer and not overly personal. 

“What was your name?” Harry asked once the questioning was complete and another photo was taken. 

“Cole Camberwell, sir, pleasure to make your acquaintance.” _Of fucking course,_ Harry thought, but smiled instead of grimacing and shook the man’s hand. It was so close to Colin Creevey that Harry felt his rib cage tighten in response. 

“Thanks, you too.”

“And you, Mr. Malfoy, thank you for allowing me to interview you,” Cole said as he shook Draco’s hand excitedly as well. “I really appreciate this, you have no idea.”

“My pleasure,” Draco responded in his usual suave manner. 

After Cole wandered off, Harry was left with a sense of terrible nostalgia that didn’t leave him until he and Draco were already being ushered into the Ministry ballroom. There, he was unable to feel anything other than surprise and incredulity at how beautiful it was inside, with the gold and silver sparkling baubles hanging from the ceiling, the fairy lights— which Harry was pretty sure were real fairies strung into lines— hung around the perimeters of the room, the buffet of food which took up one entire side of the ballroom, and the giant ice sculpture of a pegasus standing in the middle of it all. 

“Father always said Ministry parties were unbelievable… I suppose he was right,” Draco murmured. Suddenly a bout of rage took over Harry’s senses as he realised how much money all of this must have cost.

“They can afford this, but they can’t afford to give Arthur a raise more than once every five years?” he complained loudly. 

“Harry, time and place,” Draco hedged, taking Harry’s hand in his. “This is neither and people are looking.” Glancing around him, Harry saw that Draco wasn’t kidding. Everyone within a two meter radius was staring at Harry either in irritation or while hiding sniggers. 

“Sorry, it’s just… unfair,” he said more quietly. Draco squeezed his hand once and began pulling him towards the other side of the room where people weren’t whispering about them. “It is really pretty in here, though, regardless of the cost.”

“In all reality, this probably didn’t cost all that much to set up. The food can be duplicated, the baubles are probably reused every year, and the ice sculpture was probably done with magic. The fairies are probably volunteers, or they’re doing this for a trade of some sort,” Draco explained logically. Harry nodded his head, conceding that Draco was probably right. “So you can calm down, please. We’ll most likely be embarrassed enough by the time the night’s over without you making a fuss about Weasley senior’s paycheck.”

“True,” Harry breathed, feeling ashamed of himself for shouting in the first place. “Look, there’s Neville again! We should go say hello to him before we lose him in the crowd.” 

Without bothering to wait for Draco’s response, Harry tugged Draco along towards the tall man standing next to… the same man from earlier, who looked incredibly familiar to Harry. It felt strange for Harry, seeing Neville again after so long. The last time they’d spoken in person was directly after the battle and Neville had been looking worse for the wear, then. 

“Hey! Neville!” Harry waited for Neville to turn around before being pulled into a strong embrace and getting several almost painful slaps to the back.

“Harry! It’s been ages! How are you?” Neville released him from the hug and grinned from ear to ear, but his smile faltered when his eyes fell on Draco. “Oh… M-Malfoy.”

“Yes, Malfoy,” Draco said with an exasperated sigh. “Hi, Longbottom, how are you?” His extended hand went unnoticed as Neville was staring at Draco’s face with obvious unease and fear. 

“It’s alright, Neville, he’s not going to tease you like he used to,” Harry said softly, hoping it would calm his friend down a bit. 

“Right,” Neville chuckled strangely. “Er, this is my boyfriend Brutus.” The man beside Neville stepped forward and Harry noticed for the first time that this is one of the men who beat Draco up in the alley all those months ago. 

“Wait,” Draco whispered. Harry glanced over and saw that his eyes had narrowed down to dangerous slits. “I know you.”

“Y-you two know each other?” Neville stuttered, surprised. 

“Oh, it’s that Death Eater scum everyone seems to be so fascinated with right now,” Brutus laughed roughly, gaining a look of further confusion from Neville. Apparently kind introductions were not to be had. 

“Don’t talk to him like that,” Harry nearly growled, startling himself as much as Draco beside him. “He’s not a Death Eater.”

“Really? That’s interesting, because he’s registered as one.” _If he laughs like that one more time…_

“What is going on?” Neville interrupted Harry’s next thought, glancing quickly between his boyfriend and friend. “You both seem to know Brutus, but I’m sure I’ve never heard anything about any of you meeting.”

“He beat the shi—”

“It’s not important,” Draco interrupted, squeezing Harry’s hand until it began to hurt. Though he didn’t like having his blood circulation cut off, he also didn’t want to take his hand out of Draco’s in case he was unknowingly providing support. “We just know each other.”

“No, Draco, I’m not keeping quiet about this,” Harry protested firmly. “Neville deserves to know what happened in case it means Brutus isn’t fit to be his boyfriend, and because you shouldn’t have to pretend you weren’t wronged by him. I met Brutus in Diagon Alley while he was beating the shite out of Draco.”

“W-what? No, you must be mistaken, he’d never do something like that, even if…” As Neville trailed off, Harry could feel his jaw tighten in aggravation.

“Even if it was a Death Eater?” Draco supplied quietly, finishing Harry’s thought properly. 

“I’m not mistaken. I don’t think I’ll ever forget what happened because that was the start of Draco and I finally getting to know each other. He could’ve been killed by Brutus and his friends that day. He had several ribs broken, as well as his nose. There was blood everywhere.” He felt guilty for it, but when Neville’s eyes widened as he was told what happened satisfaction pooled in Harry’s chest. Strangely, Brutus hadn’t said anything at all during his explanation. _Maybe he’s proud of what he did._

“Brutus, is this true?” Brutus shifted uncomfortably under Neville’s imploring gaze.

“I— well…” He gave an inappropriate and high-pitched chuckle. 

“He’s telling the truth, isn’t he?” Neville seemed more angry than Harry had seen him since… well, since more unpleasant times. 

“I wouldn’t have done it if I’d know— that is, I wouldn’t have—”

“Wouldn’t have _what?_ ” Harry asked, fuming by this point. “Wouldn’t have come out with it if I hadn’t called you on your shit? Wouldn’t have beat Draco up had you known that he’d run into you again in the future?”

“I-I… I’m sorry,” Brutus whispered, rubbing his face with a calloused hand. 

“You fucking should be,” Harry insisted, bewildered at the change taking place in the man before him. First he’d stayed completely silent with a look of pure smugness on his face, then he’d laughed, and now he wanted to apologise, as though any of them was willing to forgive him. “Maybe you should think _before_ you attack people in the streets. And what sort of person assaults another person three to one?”

“Harry, it’s fine,” Draco said, resting a calming hand on Harry’s shoulder. “People are listening.”

“Let them listen! I don’t care, he fucking broke your bones and would’ve kept going if nobody had stepped in! I want them to hear what this slimy horse wanker did to you!” Looking around him, however, Harry noticed that there was a large gathering of people conveniently standing near them. Most of them were pretending not to be listening or watching, but Harry saw one dark haired woman staring directly at him. As Harry caught her eyes, she hurriedly looked away and pretended to clean her gold spectacles on her gown.

“I broke your nose in sixth year,” Draco pointed out, still speaking slowly and softly and bringing Harry back to the matter at hand.

“That—” Harry paused, trying his best to think of a counter-argument. “That was a while ago. You were just a kid.”

“That was only two years ago, Harry. Please, just let this go. I’m uncomfortable and I’m sure Neville— er, Longbottom— is too.” Harry desperately wanted to say more, but they were drawing a crowd and Harry didn’t think there was much left to say that wouldn’t cost him Draco’s good mood for the remainder of the evening. 

“Fine, but this isn’t over,” Harry directed towards Brutus. “Neville, I’m really sorry you were dragged into all this.”

“Yeah, er… Good to see you, I guess. Sorry about… _him._ ” Neville seemed an odd mixture of awkward and furious, and Harry thought it best that he and Draco quickly depart the scene for the good of all parties involved. Grabbing Draco’s hand and giving it a small squeeze, he searched the assembly for some sort of distraction, finding a spot in the line of people waiting for the buffet.

“I need a drink,” Draco mumbled as he picked up a crystal champagne flute. 

“Right there with you,” Harry replied in just as hushed a tone. 

For several long moments they waited in place for the line to move along, and Harry felt as though someone was staring at him. Turning, he noticed the same bespectacled woman, who had been watching before, behind him. She gave him a small smile, hastily grabbing her own glass and retreating back into the crowd. Harry had become accustomed to this sort of behaviour, what with the reporters swarming him nearly every time he stepped out in public, but it was still unnerving that he should be so sought out, even in his workplace. There was something in the look she gave him that made him bristle, if only a little. Brushing off the feeling, he took his own drink and attached himself to Draco’s arm, forcing himself to prepare to mingle with the party-goers. 

 

<>

 

Standing towards the back of the line, Narcissa waited until she’d seen the perfect disguise. Discreetly, she cast a Disillusionment Charm on the lone, elegantly dressed woman before just as carefully stunning her. The bush behind the woman seemed to riple and Narcissa knew she’d hit her mark and the woman was down for the count. The shawl hiding Narcissa’s features moved away from her face with a sudden burst of wind and, panicked, she hastily pulled it back into place before casting yet another Disillusionment Charm on herself and hurrying over to the fallen guest. 

Narcissa pulled one hair from the woman’s head and dropped it into the flask of Polyjuice she’d also asked Zabini to brew in her letter requesting— or rather, demanding— aid in her plan. The potion inside changed to a delicate blue shade with bubbles reaching the lid, then calmed, and Narcissa smiled predatorily before casting a full body bind on the woman and dragging her into the bushes. 

One sip of the Polyjuice and Narcissa began the painful, yet necessary transition that came with turning into another person. Perhaps a simple glamour would’ve done the job, but Narcissa had more faith in the ability of the potion and knew that this way she would surely be convincing to anyone who might know the woman she was pretending to be. 

Scouring the silk robe for pockets, Narcissa finally felt the stiff edge of the party invitation and pulled it out, but was surprised at her inability to read the script on the thick paper. Feeling utterly perverse, Narcissa felt her way up the woman’s invisible body until— _yes_ — she found a pair of thin, wired spectacles. Placing them gently on her face, Narcissa stood to her full height, which was several inches shorter than she was used to, and removed the Disillusionment Charm before leaving the sanctuary of the bushes. To her gratefulness, the line had shortened so that no one was nearby when she appeared from behind the shrubbery. Looking back down at the invitation, Narcissa found what she’d originally been looking for. 

“So I am to be Miss Stella Bonham for the evening,” she noted to herself. She knew nothing of the woman, of course, and hoped beyond hope that Potter was not well acquainted with her. She seemed like a bit of a wallflower, and Narcissa’s instincts tended to be strong. With luck, this plan would go off without a hitch. 

“Evening, miss,” the doorman greeted her pleasantly. “Invitation, if you please?” Narcissa provided the man with her invitation displaying what she knew was a meek smile even without seeing it from his perspective. “Miss Bonham, have a wonderful evening and happy Christmas.”

“Thank you,” Narcissa offered quietly, letting her shoulders curve inward for effect. Looking down to the floor as she walked past him, Narcissa followed the dwindling crowd of guests into the ballroom. It wasn’t long at all before Narcissa spotted her son and his… downfall, standing off toward one side of the room. What did take a moment was her brain working around Potter’s attire; gone were the baggy trousers and stained T-shirts fit for a house elf, along with his unruly hair. In their place was a finely coordinated outfit with braces that Narcissa could tell just by seeing their shade of green probably matched his eyes, and a hairdo that was, miraculously, keeping his curls from being the chaotic mess they usually were. This was her son’s work, and it wasn’t hard to tell. She scoffed. So now it was her son’s duty to dress and cater to this mess of a boy? This was what he’d given up his fortune to do with his time?

She edged closer to the pair, doing her best to go unnoticed, not that it was difficult in this body. Nobody’s eyes seemed to linger for longer than a moment, if they even landed on her at all. Peering over a few taller heads, she watched as they quickly made their way through the crowd toward her. For a split second she thought that perhaps they knew something was going on, that she was here even in disguise, but then Potter was brought into an undignified embrace by a boy Narcissa recognised as Longbottom, the one who had killed the last of the Dark Lord’s horcruxes. 

As soon as Potter was let go of, Narcissa saw her son’s happy demeanor change to one of fear. Well, perhaps others would simply think he looked put-off, but Narcissa knew better. It was in his eyes as Draco looked to the man standing beside Longbottom. Recognition came first, but then those grey eyes so like his father’s iced over and she could see the pulse along his neck beating in frenzy. She needed to hear what was going on. 

“Don’t talk to him like that,” Narcissa heard Potter snarl venomously. “He’s not a Death Eater.” _How very interesting. So he’s in denial about my son’s history…_

The man standing beside Longbottom, presumably his date, laughed haughtily and reminded Potter of Draco’s registry as a Death Eater, causing Potter to become even further incensed. Confused, Narcissa moved even closer to the four men, hoping that some sense could be made. When Draco attempted to stop the confrontation Narcissa was forced to pause. _That isn’t like him,_ she thought in surprise. If Narcissa knew anything about her son it was that he would never put up with a slight to his character. 

“It’s not important, we just know each other,” Draco interrupted as Potter attempted to explain to Longbottom how they were familiar with the stranger. Apparently not having it, Potter went into a rant in defence of Draco, simultaneously informing Narcissa that her son had been brutalised by this man, and apparently others as well, in public. 

“He could’ve been killed…. There was blood everywhere.” Narcissa watched as Potter safeguarded her son from his supposed attacker, watched as Longbottom confronted the man, revealing his name. Brutus didn’t bother denying that he’d had a part in humiliating and batterting Draco, and again he laughed, tried to excuse himself, but Potter wasn’t allowing for excuses. 

“People are listening,” Draco tried to reason. _Yes, yes they are_. 

“Let them listen!” 

Potter continued on his berating of Brutus, his face twisted in disgust and his battle-marked hands clenched into fists at his sides. Draco’s eyes closed and Narcissa again had to pause to analyse her son’s behaviour. It was so unusual for Draco to not want confrontation, regardless of their position in a very important Ministry event. Narcissa had thought she’d known her son inside and out, but something had changed in him. He seemed more… mature. Potter, on the other hand, seemed to be just as obnoxious and untamed as usual, but what was different about this instance was the fact that he was being this way because of Draco, because he’d been wronged. 

As Potter finished his tirade he looked around at the people listening in on their conversation, his eyes landing on Narcissa. Startled, she took the glasses from her face and pretended to clean them on her gown, hoping that he couldn’t see through the Polyjuice skin she wore. Looking back up, Narcissa breathed in relief as Potter’s eyes were no longer on her. 

“I broke your nose in sixth year,” Draco said in the calming tone he’d always used with Lucius during his more intense moments. Potter appeared taken aback by this argument, fumbling around in his response for some reason to defend Draco’s childish actions from years ago. “...Please, just let this go…”

“Fine, but this isn’t over.”

Apologies offered from Longbottom and Potter both concluded the skirmish and Narcissa followed at a distance as her son and partner crossed the large room to the buffet line, sneaking into line behind them. She eyed the champagne flute that Potter reached for; it would be easy enough to just slip the small bottle of liquid from her pocket into his drink… Maybe a better opportunity would arise than this, Narcissa considered. It was pretty early on in the evening still, and Zabini hadn’t informed her exactly how long the potion would take to kick in fully. If Potter were to die during the party… There were simply too many risks at that precise moment. Refusing to believe that anything else could cause her hesitation, Narcissa decided to wait for the perfect moment. 

As though hearing her thoughts of poisoning his beverage, Potter chose that exact moment of indecision to turn and look at her. Narcissa, not knowing how else to react, grabbed a flute of champagne that she didn’t want and offered a small, sheepish looking smile before walking away into the crowd to observe from afar. Now that Potter had noticed her twice Narcissa was beginning to think she’d become too obvious. Maybe if she could go unseen by him for an hour or so she’d have better luck.

As her son and Potter left the buffet table with their drinks and a plate to share, Narcissa watched as John Dawlish, head of the Auror Department, strutted towards them with a look of amused disdain clear on his scruffy face. Curious as to what the man had to discuss with them, Narcissa edged closer, casting a discreet Notice-Me-Not Charm on herself so that anyone who did look her way would just happen to overlook her specifically. 

“... Just a glutton for seeing your face in the papers, are we Potter?” Dawlish was saying as Narcissa approached. “It didn’t escape my notice that you’ve decided to bring such an undesirable guest tonight, either.”

“It wasn’t exactly supposed to be a secret,” Potter retorted with badly disguised sarcasm. “He’s just as welcome here as anyone else’s date.” Narcissa wondered how Potter had so easily forgotten Longbottom’s date, but that thought was interrupted by Dawlish’s next cutting remark.

“Is that what you’ve been told? Funny, because with the way people have been talking all evening, they agree that it was a bad move on your part.” 

“What was a bad move? Taking my _boyfriend_ to a Ministry Christmas do? I’m confused; who else was I supposed to have brought?” 

“Literally anyone else— perhaps someone without a Dark Mark soiling their skin.” Dawlish laughed with no humour. “But far be it from me to tell you who to involve yourself with.”

“So then why are you trying to?” Potter challenged, taking a step toward the Auror Department Head. “If it’s not your place to do so, don’t you think you should’ve kept your mouth shut in the first place?”

“Harry, again, time and place,” Draco muttered near Potter’s ear. Narcissa observed the way Potter’s jaw twitched, his eyes shut momentarily, and he took a deep breath. He was trying to control his anger, but it was clearly taking some effort. 

“Interesting that your Death Eater has better manners than you,” Dawlish commented a bit louder than was really necessary. 

“He is not… a _Death Eater_ ,” Potter gritted out between clenched teeth.   
“Keep telling yourself that. Anyway, I’ve got some mingling to do. I’ll be seeing you around, Malfoy,” he added menacingly. Or, Narcissa supposed, in a way that was meant to come off as menacing. Really, he was making an idiot of himself in her opinion, but she couldn’t very well tell him so in her position. 

Yes, this night was proving to be very interesting indeed. Narcissa had witnessed Potter defend her son more than once and also the way he reeled himself in when asked to. Though he was clearly in denial about Draco’s political standing, Narcissa was quietly impressed at Potter’s way of handling situations where Draco’s honour was in question. Not that this changed anything— of course not— but it was more than a bit surprising, really. 

Stepping away from the pair, Narcissa decided to wait a bit longer and continue watching their behaviour before making any move towards the end of her plan. 

This ended up being quite a boring process, and a bit nerve-wracking; Narcissa wound up being swept into a conversation about the quality of dragonhide these days by a woman close to Stella’s age, someone who appeared to expect Narcissa to know her and be able to add to the conversation. It was only due to Narcissa’s collection of designer dragonhide purses that she managed to provide a convincing angle to the discussion that probably left the other woman wondering a bit, but not curious enough to be considered dangerous to her plans. It would’ve been smart to choose a person she’d known more about before deciding on a Polyjuice disguise, but she hadn’t been involved with the Ministry much at all since the war and Lucius was no longer available to keep her filled in on the employees there. It wasn’t the best route to take, she was discovering, but thankfully she was able to break away from the dragonhide-obsessed woman with the excuse of using the lavatory. Under normal circumstances Narcissa would never be so crude as to tell someone when she’d needed a toilet break, but these were not normal circumstances and not everyone was quite as well mannered as she prided herself being. 

In the lavatory Narcissa used her privacy to swig once more from her hidden flask of Polyjuice; after checking in the mirror, she’d noticed that Stella’s nose had become a bit thinner, as well as her cheekbones more defined and regal, which meant that her disguise was already wearing off. She’d never been very good at brewing, but Zabini was, and Narcissa was surprised at how quickly the effects were fading. She’d only been at the party for about an hour or so, but perhaps that was the typical time range of Polyjuice transformation. She was no Potions Master, and for the first time since his death Narcissa found herself genuinely wishing she’d had Severus to consult in advance. Of course, that would’ve made it very difficult to proceed with her plans, as Severus had always had a soft spot for Potter, regardless of his— very convincing, she had to allow— attempts at hiding that fact. 

Sighing at her cluelessness, Narcissa resigned herself to the task at hand and forced all thoughts of Severus, his reasons for caring for Potter, and her lack of Potions knowledge out of her mind before replacing her shy mask and rejoining the festivities. 

When she reached the ballroom again she found that her son and Potter were making their way— or rather, Draco was tugging a rather apprehensive and, quite frankly, terrified looking Potter— towards the dance floor. The dance taking place had probably started a minute or so before they joined in, judging by the steps the other dancers were taking, but this didn’t seem to prevent Draco from forcing a place for himself and his dance partner in the midst of the others. Narcissa had always taught Draco from a very young age that, if he were inclined to dance at a party, he must always wait until the next dance if one was underway, but it seemed that Draco had either forgotten this bit of instruction or simply didn’t care. 

He didn’t care, Narcissa decided not a minute later, when Draco’s dance moves had strayed from traditional to… whatever they were now. She didn’t think she’d ever seen a dance with those steps before, so perhaps Draco was making them up? Either way, Narcissa felt a pang of embarrassment for her son as she observed the other dancers taking obvious steps away from Draco and Potter’s lively dance, which absolutely clashed with their practiced and poised one. Then she realised with a jolt of intense shock that Draco was enjoying himself— more than she’d ever seen him enjoy himself in her presence before. His smile stretched across his face, softening his pointed, Malfoy features and melting any lingering ice in his gaze. Potter, on the other hand, looked flustered and unsure of himself. That is, until he’d bothered to look up from his feet at Draco’s face. It was then that his face assumed a similar expression to Draco’s, and it was then that Narcissa gasped in alarm. She knew that look very, very well. Suddenly she was taken back twenty six years to the Black Family Soiree, the first one Lucius had been invited to during their courtship. All night Lucius had kept his expression of mild interest in place, through her mother’s incessant questioning of his intentions and her father’s intermittent insults to his ‘questionable heritage,’ until they could finally sneak out into the back garden and hide away in the rose maze. It was there, pressed against one of the Greek-inspired alabaster pillars of the also Greek-inspired gazebo, that Lucius had inclined his head to kiss her, only for Narcissa to turn her face away, hiding a smirk.

“Have I done something wrong?” That sure, cold tone he’d always used, even to this day, had slipped into an insecure one and Narcissa had slowly raised her eyes to meet his, her lips twitching in her efforts to keep her face neutral. 

“I was only curious,” she replied primly, “about whether or not your great-great aunt thrice removed was truly a Malfoy, or if she had secretly written herself into your family tree by way of Amortentia.” Lucius’ eyebrows had curved upward and his mouth made a soft popping sound as it opened in confusion. Continuing on in what she hoped was more obviously seen as jest Narcissa said, “These are very important details, you must realise, and if I’m to profess my undying devotion to one such as yourself I’ll need undeniable proof that your every last relative was who you say they were.”

And there it was. Right on Lucius’ face, after it had dawned on him that she was teasing him, was that same smile her son wore now, and the same one being mirrored by Potter, the same one she was sure she had mirrored back at Lucius. 

“Shit,” Narcissa said, a bit too loudly, startling not only herself but several nearby people. “That is— I…” Narcissa broke off her attempt to clarify her harsh language, deciding that this situation warranted it. It wasn’t like these people had never heard the word before, and damn it all she was not in the mood to please the masses just then. 

It was worse than she’d feared. This was no ploy to rebel against his parentage; Draco was in love with Potter, and it seemed the feeling was mutual between the two of them. Narcissa decided she’d need to reconsider her plans, at this point. No, she hadn’t changed her opinion of her son’s choice in partners, nor his sexuality, but she couldn’t very well kill Harry Potter at this point. No, if she wanted her son back it would take much more scheming than this, much more intricate planning. 

“I don’t know why I even thought,” she began, before promptly shutting her mouth. Apparently Stella wasn’t the sort to use profanity or talk to herself, and apparently this new discovery had put Narcissa off kilter enough to forget herself. It was time to leave, she decided.

The guard at the doors to the Ministry bid her a good evening and a Merry Christmas, but Narcissa barely heard the man as she swept across the lawn in her haste to return Miss Bonham’s stolen identity. Once behind the bushes where she’d hidden the woman, Narcissa nearly tripped over her body. Making quick work of the process, Narcissa cast Finite Incantatem to rid the Disillusionment Charm, only realising too late that she hadn’t been precise enough with her casting and wound up releasing Stella from not only the stunner, but also the body-bind, forcing Narcissa to Disapparate on the spot, rather than staying to watch and make sure Stella went home instead of attempting to go back into the party. And she’d forgotten to return the invitation. Now Narcissa had ensured that Stella would wake up behind the bushes, unaware of how much time had passed, and without an invitation to the party she hadn’t yet attended. What a bloody mess she’d made. 

“Off kilter indeed,” Narcissa admonished herself as she immediately left the entryway to retire to her parlour. She knew she’d been careless with the way she’d handled the situation with Stella, but she couldn’t very well do anything about it now. “In love… Draco’s in love.” Saying it aloud did nothing to ease her mind about the situation. This was much more complex than she’d assumed originally, but she wasn’t quite ready to give up. Not yet. 

 

<>

 

“Well that was awful,” Draco said as John Dawlish walked away from them. Draco couldn’t see any real reason for the man to have started a conversation with them in the first place, seeing as he obviously did not like Harry or his choice in party dates and made it very clear to them within the span of five minutes. 

“I should’ve seen it coming, though,” Harry replied, irritation thinly veiled. “I knew he wouldn’t like that you were coming, but I didn’t expect him to be so upfront about it.” Laughing, Draco shook his head.

“Really? After all that he’s done and said to you recently about being with me, and getting me arrested, you didn’t expect that?”

“Well… Alright, I see your point, but no, I didn’t. I figured he’d be maybe a bit more, er, civil, seeing as we’re at an elite event.”

“I think my favourite part was when he said he’d be seeing me ‘around.’ How ominous. Is it weird that I’m almost excited for him to try something?”

“Knowing you… no, it’s not weird at all.”

“I’d just like one chance to show him what for. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a good duel.”

Wrinkling his nose, Harry said, “Somehow I doubt he’d play fair, though, so maybe it’s best you don’t see him around…”

“What, you don’t think I could take him?”

“No! No, I just don’t want you getting—”

“Someone giving you boys trouble?” Turning, Draco’s eyes landed on Kingsley Shacklebolt, who had apparently been listening in on their conversation, though how much of it he’d heard Draco couldn’t be sure.

“Kingsley!” Harry swung around, nearly spilling his third glass of champagne on the marble floor. “Erm, not really, no, we’re fine,” he scrambled.

“Actually, sir, yes someone has been giving us trouble. Harry in particular, but yes,” Draco broke in, hoping that he didn’t come off as rude, but spotting what was probably his only chance to get back at Dawlish for being a prick to Harry. He may have gotten Draco arrested, but he’d been basically torturing Harry day in and day out, every week since he started training. That was worse, in his mind.

Furrowing his brows, the Minister crossed his arms over his chest and stepped a bit closer. “Who’s been giving Harry a hard time, then, Mr. Malfoy?”

“Nobody—”

“John Dawlish, sir,” Draco interrupted, glaring momentarily at Harry. “From what I’ve been told nearly every day after Harry comes home from work, Dawlish has been targeting him and working him harder than everyone else because he’s seeing… a Death Eater…” Feeling his cheeks heat as he was forced to refer to himself in such a way, Draco trailed off and pinched his lips shut. 

“Is that so?” Shacklebolt asked as he regarded Harry with a calm, curious frown. 

“It’s not that bad, really,” Harry rushed out quickly. “I’m not being overworked, it’s fine. I’m honoured to be in Auror training with everyone else.”

“Not overworked,” Draco repeated as he chuckled dryly. “Except when you came home with a sprained knee and a limp from that jinx you couldn’t dodge while you were trying to dodge four other curses and hexes.” Taking a breath to calm himself and remind himself that Harry wasn’t the one at fault, Draco added, “Not to mention that, while everyone else gets to come home at a reasonable hour, you’re kept until nearly eight every night.”

“Harry, if this is true I’d like to know,” Shacklebolt said gravely. For a moment Draco thought he might have gotten Harry in trouble, until the Minister said, “If he’s giving you unfair treatment for any reason I do need to be aware of it.” From the look on Harry’s face Draco expected him continue to downplay the stress Dawlish had been causing him at work, but then his shoulders sagged and his eyes lowered to the floor. 

“It’s true,” Harry finally admitted. “It’s been getting to me lately, but I didn’t want to say anything because he’s genuinely a good trainer to everyone else. He’s made it very clear that I’m expected to put up with whatever he throws at me since I’ve decided to sympathise with… with the likes of Draco.” Draco felt a tug on his heart as Harry’s eyes flickered to him, as he refrained from calling Draco a Death Eater, as he continued to protect Draco from that label. 

“That’s workplace discrimination, Harry. That’s a rather important thing to mention. Did you think I wouldn’t believe you?” Concern softened the normally solemn features of Shacklebolt’s face.

“No, sir, that’s the thing. I knew you’d believe me… I just didn’t want to cost anyone their job over this; I can handle it. I’ve been handling it.” Pausing, Harry looked as though he wanted to say more, and after a moment spit out, “And he requested Draco’s arrest shortly after he moved in with me, with no evidence— no _solid_ evidence— that Draco had done anything wrong. Just _Prophet_ rumours.”

“This is something I should’ve been informed of immediately, Harry,” Shacklebolt chided, sounding almost fatherly to Draco’s ears. “Just because you _can_ handle it, it doesn’t mean you _should_ do. Once we’re back to work after the holiday I’ll have a little chat with him about this.”

“Are you going to fire him?” Harry asked nervously. Without thinking about it, Draco grasped Harry’s hand with his free one and squeezed softly, offering what discreet comfort he could. His reward came in the form of a guilty half-smile from Harry, and though it only lasted a split second, it was enough. 

“I’ll have to consider this further before I can give you a definite answer, but as of right now he’s got some unpaid suspension on his hands at the very least,” the Minister grumbled, glancing around the party as though searching Dawlish out. Then he looked at Draco with a grimace-smile, causing Draco’s heart rate to spike. “I appreciate your honesty in this matter, Mr. Malfoy. I doubt Harry here would’ve told me anything about this, so it’s you I’ve got to thank for bringing this situation to light.”

“It’s no trouble at all, Minister,” Draco said a bit too quickly, letting his residual shock of having a real conversation with the Minister get the best of him. “I hope I wasn’t rude in telling you, but I saw my opportunity and took it. It’s not fair that Harry should have to put up with this every day because of me.” He was pretty sure he hid his shock decently when the Minister boomed with laughter after he’d finished speaking.

“You’re a fine young man, do you know? I never thought I’d see the day when a Malfoy was looking out for the behalf of another person before themself, so rude or not you’ve just made my day.” Patting each of them on the shoulder in turn, Shacklebolt wished them a pleasant evening and walked off.

“Did he just insult me, or compliment me?” Draco wondered, shocked from the strangeness of that entire situation. 

“I’m… not entirely sure,” Harry laughed, taking a sip of his champagne and turning to face Draco. “But either way, that’s Dawlish taken care of. At least for a while.”

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Harry, but I couldn’t pass up that chance. He’s right, you know, about you not telling people important things that could save you a lot of trouble in the end,” Draco said with as stern a face as he could muster, given the circumstances. 

“Yes, well, we can’t all be telltales, now can we?” 

“I hope you’re joking, Mr. It-Was-Draco!” he snorted. “If I had a galleon for every time you tried to pin things on me in school, I’d have at least a sixteenth of my Gringotts vault back.”

“You have to admit that most of those times it really was you, though.” 

“Besides the point,” Draco snapped in good humour, doing his best not to grin. “You’re still one of the biggest telltales I know.”

“Yeah, right after you.” Shoulders shaking with suppressed giggles, Harry kissed Draco’s cheek, which unsurprisingly drew several gasps from the surrounding crowd. It wasn’t the first time they’d kissed throughout the evening, but it hadn’t yet failed to gain the same response each time. 

Remembering Neville’s appearance at the beginning of the evening, Draco asked, “What does Nev— Longbottom do, anyway? I thought only Ministry employees got invited to these things.”

“Oh, he works in the Wildlife Protection Department. He’s the head of the agricultural division,” Harry explained. “He’s done a good job working his way up so quickly, but then he always was really good in Herbology.”

“He certainly didn’t have much talent in Potions, so I guess it’s a good thing he went that route. Though I’m surprised he didn’t go back to school like the rest did.”

“I’m not; Neville was never really great in school. I think the only reason he stayed during seventh year, besides the DA, was because of Professor Sprout.” It wasn’t a joke, but for some reason Draco found himself laughing. Perhaps it was the champagne consumption, but the vision of Neville and Sprout snogging in the green houses certainly didn’t help matters. Thankfully, Harry laughed right along with him, though his laugh had an air of confusion to it. “Listen, why don’t we get out of here? It’s already after ten—”

“Not so fast,” Draco interrupted, vanishing both their unfinished glasses of champagne. “You haven’t even danced with me yet.” 

Groaning, Harry replied, “Oh, please… I can’t dance at all. Do you remember the dance lessons before the Yule Ball? Or the Yule Ball itself? I’ll make an idiot of myself, more than I already have tonight.”

“It’s the _strangest_ thing,” Draco said, pretending to sound as though he was having an epiphany of some sort, “but I don’t give a boggart’s arse. Dance with me.”   
Their timing couldn’t have been more horrendous; a dance was already in procession, and many of the party’s guests were already in the midst of a traditional waltz, but Draco hadn’t the slightest fuck to offer and tugged Harry into the thick of the swaying figures, pulling him close and beginning to lead. Several dirty looks were shot their way, but it didn’t deter Draco from forging a space for them on the dance floor. Looking pale as a sheet, Harry’s movements were stiff as Draco spun them this way and that, but after realising that Draco wasn’t taking it seriously at all he seemed to give in and allow himself to move to the rhythm of the music. Or as close to the rhythm as his two left feet would allow. 

Draco, of course, had learned this specific dance by the age of nine, but he decided to embellish a bit to make things more interesting. Harry wouldn’t know the difference, having not been raised with the archaic pureblood standards that Draco had. 

Glancing around at the other dancers, Harry pointed out that, “They aren’t doing these, er, moves. Are you sure we’re doing this right?”

“I know for a fact that we are not,” Draco laughed right before twirling Harry around in a circle and pulling him tight to his chest. 

“Whoa!” Harry shouted as Draco spontaneously dipped him toward the floor, nearly knocking them both over in the process, but chortling the entire time. Coming back up from the dip, Harry flushed and said, “I know for a fact that I hated that.”

“But you love _me,_ ” Draco fired back with his most charming smile. 

“You’re a real bugger.”

“I believe you’ve told me that before.”

As the dance finally ended, Harry and Draco made their way to the buffet table again in search of water. In his efforts to make the dance more lively, Draco had worked up quite a sweat and was parched. Though Draco hated sweating, he was glad he’d done this; yes, Ministry parties were stuffy old things, filled with boring people and boring food, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy themselves. 

“Can we go home now?” Harry asked after chugging down an entire glass of iced water in one go. 

“I suppose so, unless you’d like to have another dance,” he joked.

“I bloody think not.”

Ignoring the guests who tried to draw their attentions, probably attempting to get in one last conversation with the Boy Saviour, Harry tugged Draco along towards the exit. Once outside of the Ministry, Harry hugged Draco to his chest, kissed him hard, and Side-Along Apparated them back to the stoop of Grimmauld Place, not pausing in the kiss to magic the door open to admit them both.

“You could’ve fucking splinched us, you absolute maniac!” Draco shouted, patting himself up and down and searching for any missing body parts. 

“Are you splinched?” Harry asked with a smirk. Draco glared heatedly in response, but relented when Harry resumed their earlier position and snogged him into a mild stupor. “You don’t suppose Molly would take Teddy for the night, do you?” Harry’s raspy question was released against Draco’s lips, immediately stirring Draco’s nether region further to life. 

“I don’t think so, young man,” came Molly’s half-stern reply from behind them, ruining the mood entirely. 

Jumping apart, Harry did exactly as Draco had told him not to and swiped a hand through his immaculate hair, tumbling his locks all over the place and ruining Draco’s good efforts. At least he’d waited until they’d got home.

“Molly! I didn’t expect you to be… right… _here,_ ” Harry fumbled, shifting from foot to foot in monumentally obvious embarrassment. Doing his best not to laugh, Draco kept quiet, deciding that Molly probably already knew they’d been pawing at each other for months. No point in being embarrassed, really, as she had made seven children and was in no position to judge them for wanting to do what most young people do. 

“Well here I am,” she replied with a knowing smirk. “And no, I’m sorry, but I’m exhausted and I’d like nothing more than to go home to my husband. Teddy’s been lovely, but more fussy than usual.”

“Yeah, I think he’s going through a growth spurt,” Draco added, realising that he’d forgotten to mention that before they’d left. 

“I figured as much, but there’s not much to help it I’m afraid,” Molly sighed, stepping forward to pass Teddy to him. Teddy, who curled up close to Draco’s chest and nuzzled his nose close, was whimpering in quite a heartbreaking way, causing Draco to forget all about whatever plans Harry might’ve had for their night.

“It’s alright, Teddy,” Draco cooed as Harry and Molly chatted quietly. “You just have to grow a bit and you’ll be right as rain.”

“Thank you, Molly, and, er… sorry about our entrance,” Harry said as Draco tuned back in. 

“Not at all, Harry dear, I know how these things go for youngsters. I’ll see myself out, now, and you three enjoy the rest of your night.”

“Goodnight, Molly,” Draco called absent mindedly as he began climbing up the stairs, doing his best not to jostle Teddy too much for fear of hurting his aching muscles and bones. 

“‘Night, love!”

After attempting to give Teddy a before-bed bottle and having it pushed away countless times, Draco gave in and simply rocked with Teddy in the rocking chair he’d picked for his nursery. Harry had poked his head in to ask something, but upon seeing him preoccupied must’ve decided it could wait. Brandishing his wand, Draco Summoned a thick quilt from the linen closet and draped it over himself and his small-but-getting-larger rocking companion. 

He listened carefully for any remaining footsteps in the hallway and, hearing nothing but creaking coming from the bedroom, said, “Alright, Teddykins, just one lullaby before bed, alright?” Teddy sighed and rested his loosely fisted hand against Draco’s chest. As Draco began singing softly to the baby his eyes started to feel rather heavy, but he willed them to stay open long enough to finish the lullaby like he’d promised. When he’d finished the last line of the song, he closed his eyes, but just for a moment…

 

<>

 

_Running down a long, white corridor, Draco chased after the shadowy figure that had beckoned to him, then sprinted away. Or glided away? If he could just run a bit faster he might be able to catch up with him, her, it, but for some reason he couldn’t force his legs to move faster than the slow-motion rate at which they were already moving._

_“Puhliez! Shloow dohn!” He tried to shout, but it was only coming out as garbled nonsense, and surely the shadowy figure would leave him behind. But then it stopped, stood still at the very end of the hallway as though it were waiting for Draco. “Ahm cuhmeen!” He attempted to try communicating once more, but again it came out muddled and distorted._

_“What… have… you… done…?” The whispered words must have come from the figure, but they were vibrating all around him as he trudged slowly forward, exerting himself as much as he could and begging his limbs to move faster._

_“Nupheen, nupheen Ah phrahmish!” But he may as well have been speaking through a mouthful of molasses for all the good it was doing him._

_“My son… You’ve forsaken me,” the voice told him, and it was getting clearer, sounding more familiar. “What… have… you… done…?”_

_“Mahjure!” Of course it was his mother! Who else would’ve said such a thing, who else could sound so haunting and threatening and yet make him want to fling himself into her arms? “Waayte fohr mee!”_

_As Draco got closer to the figure at the end of the hall more of its features became clearer and he could see long, pale, blonde hair swirling like seaweed around a pale and pointed face. Her voice, obviously it would come from her. What was wrong with him?_

_“Draco, come here,” she requested, lifting a ghostly silk-covered arm and beckoning to him once more. “Come here, my son.”_

_‘I’m trying,’ he wanted to say, but knew it would be pointless and come out sounding ridiculous anyway. Instead, he ran and ran and ran. As close as he thought he was getting, as clear as he thought she was becoming, he still couldn’t reach her._

_“Draco… Draco_ … Draco!” His eyes snapped open and, vision swimming from sleep, he was gazing up at Harry from his place in the rocking chair. “Are you alright?”

“I’m… fine,” Draco mumbled, rubbing his eyes and realising his arms were empty. “Teddy!”

“I put him in his crib. Don’t worry, you didn’t drop him.” Draco was about to speak again when Harry shushed him with a finger over his lips and gestured to the sleeping infant in his crib, then towards the door to the nursery. 

Back in their bedroom, Draco slumped down on the bed and began languorously unbuttoning his shirt, trying his best not to think too much on the dream— nightmare?— he’d just had. Harry continued to give him strange looks, but didn’t ask any questions, something Draco silently appreciated.

Undressed and feeling uncomfortably tired, yet afraid to fall back asleep, Draco snuggled up against Harry’s back and wrapped an arm around his warm chest. Inhaling deeply, he tried to calm himself with Harry’s familiar scent, closing his eyes tightly against the emotions that were fighting their way to the surface. He didn’t miss her, he didn’t want to see her, he didn’t long for her forgiveness or apology. No, of course not, and no dream could convince him otherwise. 

“Goodnight, Draco,” Harry whispered. Draco, unable to trust his voice, simply held Harry tighter and willed sleep to bring him a more pleasant dream.


	23. Christmas Eve

It took Draco three full weeks of hours-long, daily practice to cast a successful Patronus. It was just as much of a shock to him as it was to Molly, who he had started inviting over for tea almost daily. Sometimes Weasley came with her, though Draco had a feeling that it was more Molly’s idea than his own. This time, however, Weasley was not there and Draco found himself laughing with glee at the sight of the hippogriff that flew around the sitting room. 

Molly cried out in excitement and Teddy ooo’ed. Draco wasn’t sure how he felt about having a hippogriff as his Patronus and found it a bit ironic, since the only other one he’d encountered had attacked him. 

“That’s a very rare Patronus, Draco,” Molly said in awe, still watching the hippogriff. “And the fact that you managed to cast one in such a short time… incredible. Brilliant, simply brilliant.” 

“What does it mean?” Draco tried very hard to ignore the swell of pride bubbling up inside him at that point. It would do no good to smirk in satisfaction; he doubted he’d get compliments like that from Molly often. 

“It goes right along with who you are,” she said with a smile. Obviously. “You’re very proud. That’s no mystery, but sometimes it can translate to others as arrogance.” Draco felt his lip curl and Molly laughed at him. “You are extremely loyal, but sometimes it can take you time to truly trust someone. Once you do, however, you will fight until the end to protect the people you love. And that’s another thing, your big heart. Though you may like to think of yourself as cold and distant, there is a soft side to you that is rarely seen by others because you protect that heart of yours so fiercely.”

“A load of rubbish,” Draco countered her definitely inaccurate information with snark, his usual method. 

“You know it isn’t.”

“I don’t know that, actually.” Molly rolled her eyes, and Draco thought it was the first time he’d seen her do that. Regardless, Draco wasn’t going to admit that she was right. 

“You are so proud,” Molly mumbled, not low enough for Draco to not hear. “Anyway, how about we try sending a message with your hippogriff?” Glad for the subject change, Draco agreed. The hippogriff had disappeared by then, but Draco felt confident that he could produce another one. 

“ _Expecto patronum!_ ” Draco called, thinking on the memory of Harry and him playing piano. Another hippogriff formed from the end of his wand.

“Alright, now have it stand before you,” Molly instructed.

“Come here,” Draco commanded. The hippogriff didn’t seem to hear him, or at least it didn’t care. “Heel!” he shouted, but was rewarded with the same response form the hippogriff. Vague tidbits of memory regarding his last and only encounter with a hippogriff swarmed to the forefront of his mind, and he wondered if maybe patronuses were meant to be treated in the same manner as their real-life counterparts.

“That’s no way to do it. You have to think it over to you.”

Draco thought hard that he wanted the Patronus to come to him and, for good measure, bowed to the apparition. At first he didn’t think it would come, but Draco focused harder and could feel some sort of stringy connection between himself and his Patronus. As though the hippogriff had heard Draco belatedly, it turned from near the piano, quickly bowed back, and came straight to Draco, stopping at his feet. Draco peered up at the large moonbeam coloured beast, not breaking eye contact just in case. 

“Now tell it what you’d like to say and who you’d like to say it to,” Molly said softly. 

“Tell Harry━ Harry Potter, that is━ that I’ve managed to conjure a Patronus thanks to Molly’s help. I’m certain this will be a better means of communication in an emergency. But also tell him that there is no emergency right now,” Draco rushed to finish. Then, as though the Patronus were a sentient being, it bowed its head to Draco once more and dashed through the drawing room wall.

“You’ve done it!” Molly said, hugging Draco to her. “Well done, well done!”

“Thanks,” Draco said, trying to keep the heat in his neck from spreading any further up. “I don’t think I could’ve done it without your help, honestly.”

“Oh, I doubt that. You would’ve figured it out eventually. I do have to say that I’m surprised you could manage sending a message along with your hippogriff on the first try. It took me three before I could do it.” Draco felt another pride swell in his chest, only this one was harder to keep from reflecting in his facial features.

“In any case,” he said, trying to distract himself from the bubbling happiness he could feel, “You helped. A lot. And I’m very thankful.”

“So then you’ll do a favour for me, won’t you?” Molly asked sweetly, innocently. Draco was taken aback; he hadn’t realised that Molly would ask for a favor in return. He had assumed she’d helped him out of the kindness of her heart with no need for compensation. Draco suddenly felt very hesitant and suspicious.

“What favour?” He could at least find out before he was forced to agree to it. 

“You’ll come to the Burrow for Christmas this year.” It wasn’t a question or a request, it was a demand. That certainly hadn’t been what Draco had expected from her. 

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. And you’ll at the very least write your name on whatever Harry gives to Ron.” Draco scoffed. “I’m very serious,” Molly stated firmly. “Ron still hasn’t gotten an acceptance letter from the Auror Department and he’s feeling very left out from Harry’s life. I think if you two were to become less hostile towards each other maybe Ron wouldn’t feel so distanced from Harry.”

“Hostile?” Draco sputtered. “I haven’t been hostile to him since he and Harry made up!” Molly raised an auburn eyebrow. “Alright, so I haven’t exactly been friendly, either, but that doesn’t mean I’ve been threatening him.”

“You haven’t been threatening, but you’ve made almost no effort to try and bridge the gap between you.” No effort? Draco thought that he’d made every effort he possibly could! He hadn’t called him Weaselbee to his face, or pranked him, or really even talked to him. Then again, maybe that last one was what Molly was referring to.

Sighing, Draco said, “Fine. I’ll talk to him.”

“In your own time,” Molly said, standing up. “I’ve got to get home and start preparing for dinner. It was lovely visiting with you, as always. Tell Harry I said hello.” 

Draco nodded and waved goodbye. Teddy would be about ready for another bottle, too. As Draco summoned the fixings for Teddy’s bottle, he thought back on the last letter from St. Mungo’s. It hadn’t sounded very good. Andromeda had finally lost her ability to speak and while the healers weren’t giving a time frame for how long Andromeda had left, they were making it very clear that she was only getting worse as the days passed. 

Draco shook the warm liquid in the bottle until he could see no more chunks of powder within and retrieved Teddy from his tummy on the floor. As he placed the nipple of the bottle in Teddy’s mouth he noticed that the front of his outfit was covered in dust. Feeling absolutely guilty he did his best to clean the adorable outfit with a charm, but he knew that the rug would need to be replaced. Perhaps when Harry got home for the weekend they could go shopping together for new furniture. His vault was accessible, he was steadily building his wealth each week, and it was necessary. The house may have been bettered by Harry’s original attempts to fix it up, but it was nowhere near what Draco deemed liveable. For an infant… Draco shivered thinking about how dirty and dusty everything here was. 

It didn’t take long for Draco to decide that that was exactly what they’d do when Harry got home. He wouldn’t stand by and let Teddy get allergies, or worse, Spattergroit, because there was some unknown virus or fungus in the house. It was intolerable. Where this paternal rage had come from, Draco couldn’t say, but he wasn’t about to ignore it.

 

<>

 

Harry was startled when, in the middle of training, a Patronus of a hippogriff came soaring through the walls of his training room and halted in front of him. Harry was hit by several spells before the room realised he’d given up for the moment and stopped. 

‘Tell Harry━ Harry Potter, that is━ that I’ve managed to conjure a Patronus thanks to Molly’s help. I’m certain this will be a better means of communication in an emergency. But also tell him that there is no emergency right now,’ Draco’s voice said from the hippogriff’s mouth. Harry gathered that this was probably the first Patronus message Draco had ever sent, as it was worded strangely. Harry smiled at the hippogriff before it dissipated into thin air. He couldn’t help but feel proud of Draco in that moment, nor could he ignore the hilarity of the form that Draco’s patronus happened to take.

That smile was wiped off his face in the next second, when Dawlish came strutting angrily into the room.

“What’s the meaning of this, Potter?” Dawlish shouted from across the large space. “Who sent that thing in here? I demand to know why your training is being shrugged off, and not for the first time!” Harry took what he meant to be a calming deep breath. It didn’t do as much to calm him as it gave him time to find a witty retort. 

“My apologies, sir. I’ll just let Draco know not to contact me again when my infant godson might be in life-threatening danger. Wouldn’t want to interrupt work when the life of a baby’s at stake, would we?” Harry wasn’t sure if it was Draco rubbing off on him or whether he was just getting better at handling Dawlish, but he liked the staggering expression that hit his boss’ face. 

“Your… your infant godson?” Dawlish asked. Harry lifted one eyebrow slightly in a challenging way, something he knew he’d learned and stolen from Draco. “Is he alright?”

“He is this time, but chances are that the next time you see that hippogriff in here he won’t be. That was Draco’s first test run of sending a message through a Patronus. I’m sure he had no idea I was in the middle of something so important,” Harry added for effect. 

“It’s quite alright,” Dawlish said with what sounded like a hidden apology. “Back to work, then.” 

And with that he left Harry to resume training. Harry couldn’t wait until this part of training was over so he could stop having to look at Dawlish’ ugly mug every day. For the longest time it felt like the only thing Harry saw anymore aside from Dawlish’ permanent scowl were grey walls and blasts of different coloured curses, hexes, and jinxes— at least at work. 

By the time Harry was finished with work that day he almost longed for the time he’d been able to spend sitting behind a desk. Draco was waiting for Harry in the kitchen when he got home that evening. Teddy reached out to him from his swing, which sat near where Draco was at the table. 

“Hey, you two,” Harry said with a bright smile. He immediately went to Teddy and took him from his swing, feeling the last irritation from work fade when he received a tiny, high pitched giggle from his godson in return. He kissed Draco’s cheek and gladly accepted the slow, soft kiss Draco offered him in return.

“How was work?” Draco asked. He took a sip from his mug of tea and motioned for Harry to sit by him.

“Not great, though your Patronus allowed me to check Dawlish for once,” Harry said. “It’s really cool that you learned to do that, by the way.”

“It’s all thanks to Molly. I’m glad you got to put Dawlish in his place finally. The bastard deserves it with all he puts you through every day.” There was a bite to Draco’s words, as if he’d like to put Dawlish in his place in his own way.

“How was your day?” Harry didn’t really feel like discussing work.

“Long, but good. I cast my first Patronus and Molly had some ridiculous things to say about what it meant that mine is a hippogriff.”

“Oh? What did she tell you?” Draco recounted what Molly had said with the sneer that Harry was coming to adore. “Well, that sounds accurate to me.”

“Rubbish.”

“If you say so,” Harry said with a shrug. 

“Anyway…” Draco sipped his tea and rolled his eyes. “We need to go shopping.”

“What for? I thought Teddy was alright with the things I bought him already.”

“Yes, well he’s not. This house is still filthy. The rugs need to be disposed of, along with all the furniture with fabric. Even some of the wooden furniture could use replacement. The ceiling still chips paint in a lot of places, which is dangerous. What if he eats some of it?” Harry hadn’t thought of any of this before, though he knew Draco was right.

“Oh… right. I guess that would be really bad,” Harry admitted.

“Understatement. This is no condition for a baby to live in.”

“You’re right. We’ll go shopping.” Draco stood up from his stool and Harry gave him a confused look as he crossed over to the fireplace. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to see if Molly can take Teddy for a few hours.” Harry was somewhat taken aback by Draco’s urge to get started straight away, but he supposed that now was as good a time as any.

Harry sat back and watched happily as his boyfriend and the closest thing he’d have to a mother chatted amicably. Draco apologised for asking her to watch Teddy so soon after she’d left, but Molly said she had no problem watching him. After summoning some baby things, Draco used the Floo to drop Teddy off with Molly. While Draco did that Harry took a large sum of money from his dresser and then waited on the main floor. The two of them, thankful for some time alone, then Apparated to Diagon Alley.

During their shopping trip Draco took on an attitude that Harry thought stemmed very much from his upbringing. He didn’t seem to care at all whether or not Harry liked the furniture they looked at and several times told the store clerk they’d buy something without even asking if Harry wanted it too. Draco’s behaviour made Harry feel ignored and shoved aside emotionally. It took Draco a long time to even notice that Harry was feeling put-off, and by that point Harry was wishing he’d not come with Draco at all. Number 12 was now, in Harry’s mind, also Draco’s home, but he felt he should have at least some say in what they used to furnish it. Harry was about to leave and wait outside for Draco— he didn’t think he’d be missed— when Draco finally asked what was bothering him. 

“Nothing,” Harry had said, with a childish air. He didn’t really care if he came off as childish, though from the look on Draco’s face he wasn’t buying it.

“It’s obviously not nothing. What’s going on?” 

“You’re completely disregarding me,” Harry said honestly. “I feel like I’m just your wallet, walking around with you while you make purchases.” Draco’s eyes widened and guilt caused his eyebrows to rise.

“I-I didn’t mean to make you feel that way… I’m so sorry, Harry. Have I really been that much of a prat?”

“You have, actually. But I’ll forgive you━ if you stop acting like one.” Draco smirked and touched Harry’s cheek lightly.

“I’ll stop.” He paused before asking, “What did you think of that drawing room furniture over there? Did you like it?”

And from there the outing was much more pleasant for the both of them. In the end they bought furniture for the kitchen, dining room— a much smaller table was required, since Harry knew he’d never need a table large enough to seat twenty or more people— drawing room, a nursery for Teddy, and what was now decidedly both Draco and Harry’s bedroom. They’d even bought a new mattress, which was charmed to form to the curves of one’s body, adjusting as one slept through the night to ensure no pain in the morning. They also bought enough wallpaper and paint to redo all the walls in the place. It was a new concept to Harry, wallpaper that adjusted to the needs of the person applying it, but he thought it would be easier than buying multiple rolls. There were many more rooms in the house than they’d bought furniture for, but as they didn’t really go into the other rooms often they didn’t think it important to refurnish them. Harry told himself that he would eventually refurnish the entire house, or maybe buy another house, but at the moment he wasn’t too concerned about it. 

As Draco was finishing getting Teddy’s room situated, Harry was working on unshrinking the other furniture they’d purchased and placing them in their proper rooms. Kreacher, meanwhile, was begrudgingly moving the old furniture into the attic, mumbling all the while about how disrespectful it was to hide such valuable Black belongings. Harry had had to tell Kreacher that he could spend as much time in the attic as he pleased, checking on the furniture they were moving to ensure no harm was done to them, which had been the only way he could get Kreacher to agree to help in the first place. 

Just as Harry was finishing up with his and Draco’s bedroom, Molly came into the room, her robes swishing softly around her. Teddy was barely keeping his eyes open as he lay cradled in the fold of Molly’s comfortable arms. Harry smiled at the sight of his godson and pseudo-mum, unable to stop thoughts containing words like ‘grandma’ and ‘grandson’ from flitting through his head. 

“I’m terribly sorry, Harry, but it’s nearly time for bed and Teddy’s nearly asleep. I━” Molly cut herself off as she took in the new headboard, bed frame, and room furnishings in place. It was very different than how the room had looked when she and Arthur had stayed in it. “My, my, you two _have_ been shopping.”

“We have,” Harry said as he took Teddy from her arms and sat him on his hip. “It was all necessary, though. Thank you so much for watching him. I didn’t realise how late it’d gotten.”

“It’s quite alright, dear. I would’ve watched him longer, but Ginny and Hermione are due home from school tomorrow and I’ve got to get up rather early to collect them from King’s Cross.” Harry’s brows furrowed at this bit of information.

“The winter holliday’s starting already?”

“It’s started the same day every year, as far as I can remember,” she replied with a chuckle. It certainly hadn’t taken long for Harry to forget the school’s holiday break dates. “Draco has agreed to come to Christmas dinner, and I expect you there as well, obviously. Come by whenever you’ve finished your Christmas here, but _do_ come.”

“I━ Draco said he would come?”

“It was part of a bargain, but do you really think I’d invite you and not him?” Molly gave Harry a look, as if to say ‘I dare you to say yes.’ Harry stifled a snigger for fear of getting his arm slapped and shook his head.

“We’ll be there, probably after lunch.”

“I’ll hold you to it.” She gave him a huge, motherly smile and then hugged him snuggly against her chest. “You just call on me anytime you need help, understand? I didn’t have so many children because I can’t stand being around babies. Quite the opposite in fact...” Molly looked wistfully down at Teddy in Harry’s arms, her expression speaking of all the love she carried for children. It shouldn’t have surprised Harry that she could look at someone else’s child that way━ Harry looked at Teddy in such a way frequently and he was definitely not the infant’s father━ but for some reason it did. 

“Thank you, Molly,” Harry said, hugging her with one arm in return. When she released him he glanced down at Teddy to make sure he wasn’t upset by the tight embrace. 

Molly called waved goodbye to Draco, who called back from somewhere else in the large house. Then, of course, Mrs. Black’s portrait began screaming at the top of her lungs, which caused Teddy to cry.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Harry could hear Draco curse Mrs. Black’s portrait on his way to shut the curtain and laughed as Molly’s reprimand for use of foul language reached his ears as well.

“Shhh,” Harry said as he bounced Teddy in his arms. “It’s alright, it’s just your awful great-grandmother. She’s not too fond of the Weasleys… or me. But she’s shut up now, hear?” As if Teddy could understand him, he stopped crying, but his large eyes sparkled with unshed tears and his tiny, pink bottom lip quivered with fear. Harry couldn’t help but smile and kiss Teddy’s smooth forehead. 

Up the stairs he went, to the second floor where he and Draco had agreed Teddy’s nursery would be. There was an extra room on that floor, though it had been incredibly filthy. It had taken Draco over an hour after their shopping trip to clean the room of all its dust and grime. Now, however, as Harry walked into the medium sized room, he was taken aback at how utterly spotless it was. Draco had placed all of Teddy’s nursery furniture into the room, a matching bamboo set that had been on sale, and had replaced the wallpaper. The pale green and yellow shades of the paper matched wonderfully with the furniture and Harry second-guessed his wish to have any say in the things they’d bought; Draco clearly had a much better eye for interior design than he did, and this was a perfect example of it. 

“What do you think?” Draco asked. He had silently come up behind Harry in the doorway, causing Harry to jump slightly with alarm, jostling Teddy in the process.

“First of all,” Harry said, turning around, “don’t sneak up on me like that. Secondly, you did a spectacular job, Draco.” He kissed his boyfriend tenderly and smiled at the way Draco’s eyes seemed to soften in response. 

“Sorry, I thought you heard me,” Draco replied. “I didn’t do too badly, did I?”

“Not at all, it looks like we hired a professional.” Harry noticed Draco’s face express the fact that he did consider himself a professional and laughed lightly. “Could you change Teddy into a clean nappy and pyjamas while I make his bed?” Draco nodded and took Teddy from him. Harry had the pleasure of seeing Draco caress Teddy’s auburn hair back from his face lovingly before he turned away to put sheets on the crib mattress.

 

<>

 

Draco rubbed his face and sighed as he read over the letter that had come from the hospital. It wasn’t good news, but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t already expected. Andromeda was only getting worse as the days passed. The update on her health didn’t hit Draco as hard as he thought it would, probably because he had already foreseen this coming. The healers and medi witches had been surprised that she had remained as healthy as she had for so long, something Draco had originally hoped was a good sign of her overall condition. The part of the letter that had caused major concern for Draco was the very last bit of news. Andromeda was so weak from her illness that she couldn’t move without assistance. The disease had spread to her muscles and tendons, wreaking havoc on her to the point where more often than not she refused to get out of her bed even with assistance. 

Clenching his eyes shut, Draco took a deep breath and did his best to compose himself before he had to hand the letter over to Harry. Of course, Harry was only perceptive at moments when Draco wished he wasn’t and had noticed the change in Draco’s demeanor. 

“Nothing good, then?” The low notes in Harry’s voice expressed his anxiety about the situation. Draco shook his head and gave Harry the letter before he resumed playing with Teddy on the floor of his nursery. 

Doing his best to keep his mind off of the situation at hand, Draco cast a charm on the plastic dog Teddy had in his hands, causing it to bark and wag its tail. Teddy squealed with delight and Draco felt his heart tighten at the incredible sound. Was there a creature who felt emotions more purely than a baby? If there was, he hadn’t found one yet. 

“Did you read the back of the page?” Harry asked. Draco turned around immediately at the sound of Harry’s fear. 

“No? I didn’t realise there was anything written on the back side.” His brows knitted together as he recalled the signature at the bottom of the page. That typically signified the end of a letter, didn’t it?

“It looks like they added it as an afterthought, but…” Harry trailed off and handed the letter back to Draco. 

Another moment later, Draco’s eyes were widening in shock. “That… why would they…?”

“She must not be as well as they thought,” Harry explained with a grimace. “Why else would Andromeda put Teddy into our custody legally?”

“They don’t think she’ll live through this.” Draco shook his head and read through the post script a second time. “This can’t be right. The Ministry rarely grants someone custody of a child when the original guardian is still alive.”

“But if they think she won’t be for much longer they would. Andromeda’s dying, Draco.” There was no emotion in Harry’s tone as he spoke the words that Draco had begged not to be spoken. 

There was no appropriate response to something like that. If there was, Draco couldn’t think of it at that moment. He looked down at Teddy, smiling and cooing to the toy dog in his hands. This infant, this new human life, had lost too many people already in his short existence. It didn’t seem fair that he should lose another. It _wasn’t_ fair.

Arms wrapped around Draco from behind and he leaned into them without issue. Draco’s eyes stung, but refused to release the tears that threatened to build up. Harry’s face pressed against his neck, his warm breaths comforting in a way he couldn’t describe. Neither wizard spoke as they offered each other what sympathy they could through actions alone. In a way, that was better. Whatever could be spoken in response news like this would mean very little. ‘It’s going to be okay’ meant nothing to Draco. Of course it would, for them. For Andromeda… No, there was nothing to be said about something like this.

“Maaaiiii!” Teddy shouted in his cherub voice. The sound of plastic against hardwood made Draco move out of Harry’s embrace. 

“Did you throw the dog?” Draco asked Teddy, feigning a playfulness he absolutely couldn’t feel genuinely. “Is that any way to treat an animal? Silly goose, you pet it— like this.” 

“You’ve got to be one of the strongest people I know,” Harry whispered. Draco glanced over his shoulder at Harry and smirked.

“Not strong, just good at hiding.” Harry shook his head sadly.

“Maybe, but I don’t think that’s it.”

Shutting his eyes momentarily, Draco turned back to Teddy and showed the small boy how to treat a dog properly, his happy facade back in place. Behind that mask, however, Draco was a mix of emotions, none stronger than the others. How was he supposed to be a parental figure to Teddy? Sure, he and Harry had been playing ‘house’ for the past month or so, but there was always the assumption that it wasn’t permanent, that Teddy would eventually be going back to live with his grandmother. Now that assumption was showing nearly every sign of being false, aside from Andromeda’s being dead already. _Andromeda’s dying…_ That was another thing Draco had refused to acknowledge in the past. Though he knew the severity and dangers of Spattergroit, he didn’t think it could possibly mean the same for Andromeda. Even thinking about the possibilities, he hadn’t truly allowed himself to register the risks. He had just gotten to know her, just been able to see a side to his family that wasn’t all blood purity and lineage. Andromeda had cared about Draco because of who he was, not because he was the Malfoy heir. _Well, I’m not exactly_ that _anymore, am I?_

And now Teddy would be raised by a distant cousin, who knew nothing at all about raising children, and his godfather, who probably knew only a bit more. His parents were dead, his grandfather was dead, and his last living direct relative was dying. There were two things only which could offer Draco some comfort on the matter: that Harry had lost his parents, too, and would be able to talk to Teddy once he was old enough to understand, and that, at this point, Teddy was too young to grieve the loss of his grandmother. Those two things alone made it possible for Draco to pick up the dog toy and kiss its nose in an effort to show Teddy━ who wasn’t comprehending what appropriate treatment of animals was━ how to handle a dog. 

Draco did his best to keep his mind on what, and who, was in front of him. Teddy was, of course, much too young to understand his words, his lame jokes, or his instructions on caring for his toys, but that was fine. He didn’t need to understand, and Draco didn’t expect him to. Talking nonsense to a baby was better than crying over things that hadn’t happened yet. It was Christmas Eve and the last thing Draco wanted was to be in a bad mood. 

“Are you ready for Christmas with the Weasleys?” Harry asked, bringing Draco out of his explanation of what fingers are. Teddy wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention, anyway. He was more interested in the swirling colours of the rug they’d purchased two days before. 

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Draco responded, shrugging his shoulders. “Do you think they’ll like the gifts?”

“Even if they don’t, they’ll tell us they love them anyway.” Harry chuckled. “I can’t tell you how many times they all opened up books from Hermione on Christmas day and said how sweet a gift she’d picked out.”

“I’ll be able to tell if they don’t,” Draco pointed out. “I can always tell.” Draco thought about how his father had always reacted to gifts Draco had given him which weren’t up to par. The ‘thank you’ didn’t mean much when he could see the slight sneer on his father’s thin lips. 

“It’ll be fun, I think. It definitely won’t be as grand as the Christmases you’re used to, but I think you’ll have a good time even so.” 

“I don’t need piles of presents to have a good Christmas,” Draco said defensively. 

“You got _piles_ of presents?” Harry exclaimed. 

“Harry, my parents are incredibly wealthy. Of course I got piles of presents. Not that that matters…” Draco trailed off, sounding more miserable than he had intended to. He’d never really cared about the dozens of gifts he’d received every Christmas. It would’ve been much better if his parents had actually expressed their love for him with actions and words, rather than lavish, expensive gifts. 

“I remember how much of a fit Dudley would throw if he’d gotten less presents than he had the year before. My aunt and uncle always had to outdo the previous Christmas or birthday if they didn’t want a temper tantrum on their hands.”

“You’re joking.” Draco felt his mouth twist into a frown as he wondered how many presents Harry would get in comparison to his spoiled cousin. 

“Not even. I wish I was.”

“What did you get from your relatives for Christmas?” he couldn’t help but ask. With the way Harry had been treated as a child, Draco wondered if he’d gotten anything for Christmas from his relatives.

“Sometimes an old sock. A clothes hanger, other times. Once they gave me a toilet plunger. It was the one they always kept in the bathroom anyway, and I think the only reason they gave it to me was so I could take care of the mess Dudley made in the bathroom that year… Though, after a few years at Hogwarts they never sent anything much. I preferred that, to be honest.” 

“You’re lying,” Draco accused him, his mouth agape in disgust. “There’s no way they gave you a toilet plunger━ or any of those other awful gifts.”

“I’m not lying.” Harry looked away from Draco, but not before he saw the pink staining his face. 

“How could they give your cousin all sorts of presents and only give you worthless shite like that?” Outrage replaced Draco’s disgust then, his promise to stay in a good mood forgotten.

“Because they didn't like me. Why would they spend money on someone they can’t stand?”

“That’s what Christmas is all about!” Harry burst out laughing at Draco’s poorly thought out statement. 

“Is that right? I thought it was about love and cheer.”

“You know what I meant…” 

“No, I don’t think I do. Please explain,” Harry teased. Draco exhaled sharply in exasperation.

“I just don’t understand how they could treat you like that,” he grumbled. 

“Only last year you would’ve loved hearing that I’d received a plunger for Christmas,” Harry laughed in response. 

“Things change, I guess. This year, I most certainly don’t love hearing it.” Draco paused and smirked at the wonderful joke he’d thought up. “And now I have to return one of the gifts I bought you.” His witty remark had the desired effect, and soon both he and Harry were laughing ridiculously. Teddy even joined in after a moment, though Draco was positive he couldn’t understand what was funny. 

“If I open up a plunger on Christmas morning I’m going to toss it at your skull,” Harry sniggered, though his threat was probably an empty one at best. 

“I just said I’d be returning it, so no worries there.” 

“You’re a bugger, you know?”

“Yes, yes. Now, onto an important subject. What did you get me for Christmas?” His attempt to hide his grin went badly and Harry rolled his eyes in response.

“I can’t tell you, or it won’t be a surprise. Suffice it to say you won’t expect what I’ve got you.”

“That’s no hint.”

“It isn’t supposed to be a hint,” Harry said, grinning in a way that made Draco feel very suspicious. As Draco opened his mouth to question Harry, he was interrupted before he could speak. “No, don’t even ask. I’m not telling you, I’m not even going to hint, so don’t bother asking.”

“You’re a rude, mean man, Harry,” Draco said with a mirthful frown. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Because you love me,” Harry responded easily. “And you’re going to love me even more when you open the best gift I’ve bought for you.” Draco gasped in irritation. 

“You can’t keep saying things like that if you won’t tell me what you’ve got me! It isn’t fair.” 

“Haaab!” Teddy shouted a second later. Again, the toy dog was thrown. Teddy made to crawl after it, but Draco was faster and scooped him up, holding the now eight-month-old child to his chest.

“Yeah, what he said! Teddy and I are teaming up against you. There’s two of us and one of you, I’d watch myself if I were you, _Potter._ ” 

“Oh I’m shaking in my trainers,” Harry deadpanned. “What a fierce team the two of you make, _Malfoy._ ”

“The fiercest. Isn’t that right, Teddy?”

“Booo.”

“See, even Teddy thinks you make a bad team,” Harry laughed, shaking his head. 

 

<>

 

That night, after dinner was eaten and Teddy lay in bed asleep, Harry debated with himself whether he should give Draco his biggest present now or after Christmas with the Weasleys. There was no pros or cons to either scenario, but Harry was so excited and couldn’t wait to see Draco’s reaction. And, after all the negative things that had happened since Draco had moved in, Harry thought he deserved some reprieve. There was no guarantee that the gift Harry had in mind would soothe all of Draco’s fears and upset, but he had a very strong feeling that it would help in a big way. 

Unable to decide which route was best to take, he asked Draco, “Do you want to wait until tomorrow night to open your biggest present, or do you want to do it now?” Draco set down the book he’d been reading on the new sofa they’d picked out together, not hesitating to respond.

“Now.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to wait?” Draco narrowed his eyes at Harry’s question.

“You can’t offer something like that and expect me to change my mind. I’d like to open it now.” Draco appeared thoughtful for a moment and then said, “And you can open a gift of mine tonight as well. We could make a tradition of it, even. Every year we could open one present of the other’s.”

Harry grinned largely at the prospect of spending future Christmases with Draco, and at the fact that Draco seemed to have every intention of spending his holidays with him. He nodded and got up from the sofa to retrieve the gift he had in mind. 

It hadn’t been easy to hide such a large object, but to Harry’s satisfaction, Draco hadn’t discovered its hiding spot. In Sirius’ room, Harry had hidden it, in the dusty closet. He’d had a difficult time persuading himself to use that particular room to hide the presents he’d bought for Draco, but he knew that there was no likelihood of Draco searching that room if he did have the urge to find them. 

Harry hauled the large, but surprisingly light, box out of the closet and carried it back down the stairs to the drawing room, his smile stretching nearly from ear to ear. Upon entering the drawing room and looking around the box to Draco, he saw his lover’s jaw drop open and his eyes pop wide. 

“Bloody hell, what did you get me?” Draco breathed. 

“You’re about to find out, aren’t you?” He set the box down in the middle of the room and watched Draco slowly stand and walk over to the chest-high present. 

“I can already tell that you shouldn’t have done this.”

“I know, I’ve never been very good at wrapping presents,” Harry explained, knowing full well that Draco hadn’t been remarking on his wrapping skills. The look he was given in response confirmed that.

“Harry, I didn’t get you anything this big━”

“And you didn’t need to,” Harry interrupted, “so just open it already.” 

Draco shook his head, but began unwrapping the box. Harry’s excitement climbed higher as Draco came closer to discovering the surprise. The box was taped all over, in a way that would make it incredibly challenging to open if one didn’t possess a wand.

“Was this really necessary?” Draco complained, though there was no feeling behind his quip. Brandishing his wand, he wordlessly removed the tape from the box and lifted the top flaps. “What…?” Silver eyes flashed up at Harry. “No. No you _didn’t._ ”

“I did.” 

Draco removed the cello from its cardboard encasement and began breathing heavily. His mouth opened time and again, as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Harry’s cheeks were starting to hurt from the permagrin he now wore in response to Draco’s utter bewilderment. 

“You _fucking didn’t!_ ” Draco set the cello down gently before hurling himself into Harry, wrapping his arms around him so tightly that the wind nearly got knocked out of his lungs. “Harry, you have no idea how much this means to me!” Draco began kissing Harry’s face all over, pausing to speak singular words. “You absolutely wonderful, perfect, brilliant man!”

Harry returned the embrace, as well as the kisses that had migrated to his lips from other places on his face. Draco’s gratitude continued to be translated through a marvelous snog, one that left Harry’s lips swollen and pink from overuse. 

“I can’t…” Draco inhaled a shuddering breath. “I don’t know how I can thank you.” Harry kissed the tip of Draco’s nose and released him from his arms.

“You can start by playing me something,” he said as he gestured towards the cello, still enclosed in its hard case. Draco’s face lit up and he quickly went to open the case. “I know it isn’t as nice as your old cello, but I was assured by the music store manager that this is the best they offer.” _And it better be, for how much it cost me,_ Harry silently grumbled. 

“Harry.” Draco held the cello in his hand by the neck, gingerly stroking the strings with his other hand. “Do you know what you’ve given me?”

“A cello, I hope,” Harry chuckled. 

“No, I mean… Do you realise what sort of cello you’ve bought me?” Draco looked serious, disregarding Harry’s joke completely. 

“Erm, well the shopkeep said it was from Los Angeles, I think.”

“This… This is an Ivan Zgradic cello, Harry. 1886, if I’m not mistaken,”

“Alright. Is that good, then? How do you know so much about cellos?”

“I had a lot of time on my hands growing up. And yes, that’s very good. I can’t believe this, Harry… I can’t believe… This must have cost so much! How did you afford this?”

“That’s not your concern, actually. Now, how about you show off those cello skills you’re always bragging about?” Draco scoffed.

“Always bragging━”

“Oh, just play the damned thing!” Harry said with a snigger. 

“Alright, alright…”

With a look on his face of pure concentration, Draco began by removing the bow from its secure spot in the case. For a moment he simply inspected it, as if looking for some form of blemish. Harry hoped he wouldn’t find one and was glad when Draco moved on to tightening the bow and powdering it with rosin. He replaced the rosin in the cello case and cast some sort of charm on the instrument. Harry thought maybe it was a tuning charm, by the way the pegs began twisting of their own accord.

“I’m probably a bit rusty, so bear with me,” Draco said, almost beneath his breath. Harry waited quietly for him to start playing. 

Draco’s bow moved, and suddenly the drawing room was filled with the thick, caramel sound of the strings’ vibrations. Harry had never heard a cello on its own before that he could remember and was surprised at how beautiful a sound it could make. The melody was one Harry was unfamiliar with, but he longed to hear it stretch on and on, it was so beautiful. Draco’s eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted, eyebrows raised as if in pain as his fingers moved agiley over the strings. For a moment, Draco’s bowing slowed, coming to a crawl as he played some low notes at length. Then the song abruptly picked up in momentum, causing Draco’s entire body to move along with it, so very in tune with the song was he. Harry felt his stomach flipping at the sight of Draco in this music-induced trance. He’d never seen Draco look so utterly involved in something, so passionate and enthralled. The quicker the bow and Draco’s fingers moved, the more intense his expression became and the tighter Harry’s heart felt it was being squeezed. 

Then the song began to slow once more and Draco’s head tilted to the side, seemingly yearning to hear the quieter notes being played, even though he was in full control of their volume. His eyebrows quivered slightly and Harry saw that there were tears in the corners of his eyes. Frozen to the spot, Harry watched as Draco bowed out the final, haunting note of the song. For a moment, the whole house was silent. It was as though, with the finishing of Draco’s song, Harry’s ears refused to pick up the sounds of anything half as lovely as what he’d just heard. 

Draco opened his eyes and met Harry’s wide stare, a half-smile playing on his lips. Harry began clapping, suddenly, unable to stop himself. 

“That was incredible, Draco!” He struggled to keep his voice low so as not to wake the sleeping infant on the same floor. “Rusty my arse, that was gorgeous!”

“It’s a favourite of mine,” Draco said, not bothering to hide his prideful blush. “Franz Liszt’s Liebestraum.”

“I have no clue who or what that is, but my god that was… I have no more words for what that was, it was that good.” Draco smiled and laughed quietly.

“I really missed playing.” His fingers ran down the side of the wooden body between his legs, as though there he held a lover. Harry thought that this was the only circumstance in which he would imagine that and not be jealous. 

“Would you… that is, I’d really like to hear another song, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course! I didn’t plan to play a single piece and be done with it. It’s been so long. Too long.”

Harry leaned back in his chair and watched as Draco began sliding his bow across the strings of his new cello. For what felt like hours, Harry listened while Draco poured his heart, his soul, his entire being, into his music. _Rusty,_ Harry thought with a shake of his head. As if this could ever be described in such a way. Draco had a talent here that was indescribable, and Harry could hardly believe that the wizard had gone so long without a way to express it. There was no doubt in Harry’s mind that this had been a smart choice for a gift to give Draco. He didn’t even bother pressing to open the one Draco had offered for him earlier. Listening to the heart-flutter inducing sounds he was privy to now was more than a enough for him. 

Harry struggled to think of a Christmas Eve that had been as nice as this one, finally admitting to himself that he hadn’t had one this pleasant yet. Maybe tomorrow would be a disaster, having his boyfriend and ex-girlfriend in the same room— although she said she was over what had happened between them, Harry was skeptical— but that didn’t matter; at that moment, with the elegant, spine tingling melody of Draco’s music swirling through his head, he couldn’t care about later.


	24. Christmas Day Part One

Christmas morning started at a leisurely pace, something both Draco and Harry were grateful for. Draco had written back to the hospital staff about Andromeda and their custody while Harry helped Kreacher cook a full breakfast for the two of them. It was curious, after all, that they should be granted legal custody over Teddy with no documented proof. Another thing that hadn’t been discussed was the fact that the Ministry rarely allowed non-married couples to have shared custody over a single child, as well as the fact that same-sex marriage was not legal in Britain, magical communities or otherwise. That fact inevitably led Draco to ponderings of marriage in general. He and Harry had only been together for a short time━ certainly not long enough to consider marriage━ and Draco wasn’t sure marriage even sounded appealing to him at this point. It was something his parents had pressed on him from a very young age, from time to time even talking about arranging a marriage. Thankfully, that never came to fruition, but the past had definitely pushed Draco away from thinking of the concept of marriage in a pleasant light. 

But did Harry want to get married? Was that something he would want of Draco? Would they ever be legally allowed to marry? Draco thought on these questions, among others, as he ate the scrumptious Christmas breakfast before him. Harry was busy eating and spoon feeding scoops of pureed squash to Teddy in his new bamboo highchair, and thus was too distracted to wonder about Draco’s lengthy silence. 

“Bsssshhhh!” Harry did his best attempt at an airplane noise, something Teddy loved and encouraged him to eat more foods he didn’t particularly like. “Here it comes, Teddy! Swallow the airplane, it’s good for you!” 

“Have you any idea how ridiculous you sound right now?” Draco teased with a smirk.

“Have you any idea how well this works?”

“Oh, I know. I just think you sound silly.”

“Yeah, well I’ve heard you do this exact thing, so I reckon that makes two of us.” As soon as the spoon entered Teddy’s mouth, it was spit back out with a spray that reached Draco’s face down the table.

“No!” Teddy shouted and slammed his fists on the plastic highchair tray. 

“Was that his first word?” Harry gasped as he swished his wand and vanished the mess Teddy made. Draco frowned in disgust as he did the same for himself. 

“Apparently so,” he replied. 

“How did he learn that word, I wonder?” Harry asked in an accusatory tone. “Do you tell him ‘no’ often?”

“Not really… Just when he’s about to try and eat something off the floor, or tugging on curtains, or trying to rip books, or biting a chunk out of my bar soap.”

“So yes, then,” Harry said disapprovingly.

“Well what do you expect me to tell him? ‘Listen, Teddy, I know that soap looks like something delicious, but you’re about to poison yourself?’” He scoffed. “I don’t think he’ll catch my meaning. ‘No’ works a lot faster.”

“I figured his first word would be something… I don’t know, less negative.” Draco shook his head and looked over to Teddy.

“I’m proud of you! Good job saying a real word, Teddy!” 

“Er, right,” Harry said, turning to look back at Teddy as well. “Good job, I suppose. I assume that means you’re finished eating?”

“No!” Teddy retorted with gusto.

“I don’t think he knows what it means, Draco.”

“Still, I read that parroting at his age is a great sign of higher intelligence. I think I’m rubbing off on him. He’s still really young to be talking, so he probably won’t truly understand what he does say when he parrots.”

“How many baby books have you read since we took him in?”

“Several.”

“I’ll trust your judgement, then,” Harry said with slight awe to his tone. “Who wants to open presents?”

“No!” Teddy shouted. Draco offered him another smile and clapped his hands enthusiastically. 

“Great job speaking, Teddy, but I think you mean to say yes.” Draco spoke in an exaggerated voice with Teddy, enunciating each word carefully and putting emphasis on important words. He had absolute faith in his ability to ensure that Teddy had an excellent vernacular as he grew older. Turning to Harry, he said, “I’m ready if you are.”

It took a team effort to clean Teddy up and take care of the breakfast leftovers, but soon enough the three were in the drawing room sitting amidst a considerably large pile of parcels. Before they began helping Teddy open his presents Draco pulled a wrapped box from the pile and handed it to Harry.

“You’ll want to open this before we really start, I think.” 

“Alright.” Harry grinned at Draco before tearing the paper off with a swift motion. He opened the box beneath and pulled out a brand new camera, fully loaded with film and ready to be used. “Is this what I think it is?”

“That depends,” Draco snarked back. “If you think it’s a deck of cards, you’d be mistaken. If you think it’s the newest edition Hopsin camera, you’d be correct.” Harry shot him a flat, unamused look before smiling again and testing out the camera. He aimed the lense at Draco and Teddy, sitting side by side. Draco smiled his winning smile and Teddy shoved a piece of wrapping paper in his mouth just as Harry captured the moment. A puff of pink smoke seeped from the edges of the camera, causing Harry to sputter and wave his hand in front of his face. 

“Is that supposed to happen with the new edition?” he asked with a cough.

“Yes, actually,” Draco chuckled. “It’s not toxic, though, so it’s perfectly safe to use around Teddy.”

“If you say so,” Harry’s face transitioned from curious to grateful in a matter of seconds. “Thank you, Draco. This means a lot to me. I’ve been meaning to buy one, but I keep forgetting.”

“I haven’t forgotten, and it’s a good thing you didn’t buy one because then you’d have wasted double your money on the same gift.” Draco quelled his desire to frown at the memory of Harry handing him a handful of galleons to put towards Christmas gifts. He hadn’t any money of his own, so he had secretly been dreading the Christmas holiday, knowing he wouldn’t be able to afford to buy anything for his boyfriend, Teddy, or the Weasleys. When Harry offered the money to him, Draco had originally declined the offer, stating that there was no way he could take it. The following morning, however, he had opened the top drawer of his dresser to find the money in a satin coin purse with a note attached stating that it was payment for ‘watching Teddy while I’m at work.’ It told Draco plainly that no wasn’t a proper answer, and privately Draco appreciated the gesture; it meant he would be able to provide gifts for everyone, not be left out of the holiday giving.

Harry began helping Teddy unwrap his first present, something Draco knew had to be captured, and took another picture. Things went on in quite the same way for several moments, with the camera sometimes in Draco’s hands and other times in Harry’s hands. Teddy didn’t care much about his gifts, which was to be expected. Mostly he just wanted to put them in his mouth. Because Harry and Draco had known this would be the outcome of Teddy’s Christmas morning— Molly had warned them in advance— they only bought a few toys. The rest of Teddy’s presents were practical things that would be useful to have handy. Larger clothes and plastic dishes and eating utensils, for example. 

Soon enough, Teddy’s presents were out of the way and Draco suggested Harry take the next turn opening gifts. Harry took the smallest gift from the pile and tore into it with as much regard for the delicate wrapping process as Teddy had for his wrapping paper, which is to say none. 

“A necklace?” Harry asked, holding the silver chain and garnet laden pendant. “It’s beautiful, Draco, but I don’t normally wear jewelry.”

“You’ll want to wear this,” Draco ensured. “It’s covered in protective charms, from hex and curse blockers to poison detectors. It won’t keep you out of harm’s way completely, but it should do the job in most cases.” Draco paused at the look of wonder and confusion on Harry’s face and decided further explanation was warranted. “You’re an Auror, Harry. You won’t be in training forever, and once you’re on the field battling Dark wizards and such, it would make me feel a lot better knowing that you’ve got a bit of extra protection.” Harry’s face took on an expression of understanding, his eyes twinkled as brightly as the garnets in his necklace. 

“I see the pendant is shaped like a serpent,” he said with a knowing smile. Draco blushed, even though he knew what he’d bought.

“Yes, well… I figured it wouldn’t hurt to inspire a bit of Slytherin behaviour in you when you’re risking your life on a regular basis. A bit of self-preservation would do you some good, if our years at Hogwarts tell me anything.”

“It’s a really thoughtful gift, Draco,” Harry said softly. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.” He took a moment to admire the look of respect Harry was sending his way before he motioned to Harry’s pile and said, “On to the next one.”

Draco took several photos of Harry opening the five other presents Draco had bought for him, at the same time ensuring Teddy didn’t eat any of the shreds of paper surrounding him. After three near successful attempts on Teddy’s part, Draco decided to simply vanish it all, earning him a disgruntled shout from the infant. 

“Really, Draco?” Harry asked flatly as he held up the shirt in his hands. “Is this payback for the dragon shirt?”

“Why ever would you think such a thing?” Draco feigned innocence as he batted his blond eyelashes and smiled widely. 

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because this shirt has a bloody rainbow unicorn on it?”

“Look at the back. It gets better.” Harry turned the shirt around only to shove the garment into his lap a moment later, a look of humoured shock on his red face.

“Really, Draco?” he repeated. 

“What?! I thought it suited you.”

“Right, because I’m ‘majestic as fuck,’ aren’t I?” Draco pinched his lips together to refrain from laughing.

“I certainly think so.” He snapped a picture of Harry’s hilarious face at that moment, earning a disgruntled shout that mimicked the one Teddy had let out only a few moments earlier. 

“I’m going to burn that picture when we develop those,” Harry complained. 

“No, you won’t. This is valuable material, here.” With a roll of his eyes, Harry picked up the first of Draco’s presents and handed it over, trading him for the camera. 

Draco carefully unwrapped the rectangular present, glancing up at Harry every so often and wordlessly explaining that this was the proper way to open Christmas gifts. When he looked back down at the unwrapped gift his eyes squinted in confusion. A thick book sat in his hands, full of cello music and trivia on the composers of the songs within. None of it was classical music; from the table of contents Draco could see that the composers were those he’d never heard of before.

“Who’s Led Zeppelin?” Draco asked curiously. “The Beatles, Pink Floyd, The Who… These are muggles aren’t they?”

“It’s primarily a muggle book, yes,” Harry said with a chuckle. “It was really hard to find, though. Those are rock and roll bands who were or are heavily influential in muggle society, and apparently they aren’t commonly transposed into cello sheet music. They’re all bands I used to listen to on the radio I snuck into my room at the Dursley’s.”

“Wait, I’ve heard of David Bowie,” Draco said with certainty. “I’ve never listened to his music, but he’s actually a wizard… Or a witch, actually; I’ve never really been sure with that one.”

“He was huge for muggles. Still is, sort of. I don’t know if you’ll like any of it, but I thought you’d want to learn a bit more about muggle music, or at least the music I used to listen to.” 

“That’s kind of you, Harry.” Surprisingly, there was no thought in his head having to do with blood purity or muggle-made music. He was genuinely interested in what he would hear when he learned the songs held within the covers of this book. 

“Next present,” Harry ordered with a huge smile in place.

Draco opened the next one, shocked at what he saw, so much that he hardly noticed Harry’s camera go off. Inside the small casing of paper was a black velvet box. A ring box. The thoughts he’d had at breakfast intruded on his mind once more, only this time there was a significant sense of dread accompanying them.

“What is this?” Draco asked. His voice sounded unfamiliar, too shaky and meek.

“Open it up,” was all Harry said.

“Harry, this… I━ this is━ Harry!” 

“Oh, just open it already.”

With a concern and fear present on his pale face, his heart racing, Draco slowly lifted the hinged lid of the box. Inside was a ring, as he’d figured it would be, though it wasn’t the typical gold band with elven writing etched into it that a wizard usually wore as an engagement ring. Instead, it was made entirely of what looked like elven crystal.

“It’s not an engagement ring,” Harry explained gently as he scooped Teddy off of the floor and set him in the fold of his crossed legs. 

“What is it for, then?” Draco whispered. It looked pricey, and if it was truly elven crystal, which it looked to be, then it must have cost at least as much as the cello had. Harry must have had a larger fortune than Draco was aware of, to be able to afford something like this.

“To show that I love you and want to be with you. We can’t get married, and I wouldn’t ask that of you so soon even if we could, but I do want you to know that I’m here for you. You’ve given up so much just to be with me. You’ve given up your manor home, your financial security, your parents… just to be by my side.” Harry paused to remove a piece of wrapping paper from Teddy’s fist. When he looked back up at Draco there was a small, shy lift at the corners of his lips. “The ring isn’t a request, or a proposal, it’s a promise. It’s my promise to you, to support you when you can’t support yourself, to care for you when no one else will, to push you towards whatever passions you have and build you up when you can’t believe in your own capability. I can’t promise we won’t fight or disagree, but I can promise that I’ll accept you for you and do whatever I can to help you enjoy life.” 

As Harry’s words registered with Draco he felt something swelling in his chest. It was nearly painful, the way this intense emotion filled the space between his ribs and his spine, but as Draco understood what he was feeling he wanted it to stay, regardless of the pain that went along with it. That feeling was a concoction of pride, devotion, astonishment, and mostly love. 

“You’re the most schmaltzy man I’ve ever met, Harry James Potter,” Draco muttered, staring down at the sparkling ring. “And I love you.” 

He slipped the ring onto his left hand ring finger, uncaring of whether or not it was proper to place it there. In Draco’s mind, it belonged there. The ring magically shrunk down to the size of his finger, leaving no room for it to slip off, but enough that it wouldn’t cut off blood flow. With how pale his skin was, the crystal ring did nothing but accentuate the elegance of his long, slender digits. It was perfect, even more so because it wasn’t Harry’s way of asking for marriage. As romantic as Christmas proposals were, Draco really wasn’t sure marriage was something in his cards for the future and his respect for Harry grew tenfold with the gesture he’d just performed.

“Open the rest,” Harry whispered. Draco wondered why he was so quiet, but understood as he looked up from the ring he’d been gazing at shamelessly. Teddy had fallen asleep in Harry’s lap with his head resting against the crease between Harry’s arm and chest. 

Draco admired the scene before him and wished he could keep it forever, until he remembered the camera he’d got for Harry. With the precious picture taken and the pink smoke cleared, he began unwrapping the rest of the presents in his pile. Harry had got him a pack of alpaca socks, a cheesy coffee mug with ‘Not A Morning Person’ in thick black letters on one side, and a pair of thick, cotton sweatpants. Draco had received nothing like these things in all his years at Malfoy Manor, something he thought was a positive aspect of this Christmas day. 

“Thank you so much, Harry,” Draco said as he watched his lover lay Teddy down in his crib and cover him with a soft blanket. 

“Thank _you,_ ” Harry replied.

The two of them left Teddy’s nursery and stood in the hall of the second floor, staring at each other with goofy smiles on each of their mouths. Draco looked down at the ring still twinkling in the light of the hallway and then back up at Harry.

“I should’ve gotten you something more special than the necklace,” he muttered. Part of him felt guilty that he hadn’t thought of a gift as important as the one Harry had given him.

“I love the necklace and I think it’s very special.” Harry stepped closer to him and placed his hands on Draco’s hips. “I don’t need a ring,” he said firmly. “I didn’t get you one to make you feel like you needed to do more for me, Draco. I gave you that ring for all the reasons I told you earlier, and only those. I don’t want you to feel any pressure because of it. Just keep being you. That’s all I ask.”

Before Draco could think of a response half as corny and sentimental as what Harry said, he was pushed into the wall behind him. Harry’s fingers dug into his hips as he stretched his neck up to capture Draco’s lips, and any half-formulated retort was lost to the nonexistent breeze. A tickle went up Draco’s spine as Harry’s hands squeezed and groped his hips and he automatically responded by grinding into Harry and wrapping his arms more firmly around him. 

From there things only escalated, though Draco had enough wits about him to interrupt their heated snogging and move to their bedroom. He wasn’t sure how far Harry was willing to take this, but it didn’t truly matter. It was satisfying enough to know that Harry really wanted him. At least, it certainly seemed that way, with the way Harry was expeditiously trying to get him out of his shirt. When Draco’s chest was bare his lover proceeded to kiss and suck the prominent collarbone presented to him, to which Draco responded with a low groan. Although he was comprehensively delighted with Harry’s attentions, he wanted to give as good as he got, as the saying goes. 

Trying to keep his head from fogging completely with the sensation of Harry’s mouth on such a sensitive area as it migrated lower, Draco began unbuttoning Harry’s shirt. His fingers were swift and unhesitating, easily removing the obstacle. Taking a chance, and hoping that Harry’s quiet moans were some form of consent, Draco reached between their hips to undo Harry’s trousers. 

“Yes…” Harry spoke against Draco’s throat, his warm breath causing the fine, invisible hairs there to stand on end. 

Repeating the actions towards him earlier, he pressed his fingers into Harry’s hips, then hooked his fingers into the trousers hugging them. Slowly, hoping to get another reaction from Harry, he brought them towards the front and centre of Harry’s pelvis, stopping at the button of his trousers. Harry sighed as Draco’s fingertips traced the inside of his waistline, giving Draco the go-ahead to unbutton them and slide them to the floor. 

Harry didn’t waste time with slow, tantalising motions and instead cut to the chase, taking Draco’s trousers off in half the time. He hadn’t noticed how tight they’d been against his erection until they were pooled around his ankles, offering him more freedom to grow. Reaching a hand out, he cupped Harry’s, shivering in response to the proof of his interests. A sharp breath shot from his boyfriend’s mouth, blowing the scent of raspberry jam over his face. He needed to taste that again. With no hesitation he pressed his lips to Harry’s once more and was greeted by the soft warm tongue behind them as it trailed over his lower lip. 

 

<>

 

Harry was leaving everything up to instincts at this point. He wasn’t sure exactly how intimate he wanted to get with Draco, but he felt rather confident in his wish to take things as far as they could go. So, without really thinking, he shoved Draco onto the bed behind him and immediately covered the man’s body with his own. The two of them ground against each other, their breath coming faster, hearts pounding in their ears. Their pants were getting in the way. At least, Harry seemed to feel that way, and decided to take his off. Draco took his own off as well, tossing them over Harry’s shoulder to an unknown destination. 

Fully nude, bodies pressed together, hips colliding, and hands roaming the two men brought each other to new levels of desire. Harry knew he’d never felt this turned on in the past, though he’d wanked and gone as far as second base with Ginny. Neither was as good as this, not by half. Draco’s mouth knew exactly where to land on his flesh, his hands knew exactly where to stroke and grab, his rhythm matched up perfectly with Harry’s. He wouldn’t go as far as saying they were ‘made for each other,’ but he felt that this was as close to that cliche as he would get in life. 

“Is this okay?” Draco asked as one of his fingers began massaging Harry’s entrance. 

“Yes,” Harry moaned, sounding much raspier than he’d intended. He’d never really explored that area of his body, but was taken aback at how pleasant it felt to him, even with Draco’s lack of experience. 

Draco’s hips rose again to gyrate against Harry’s and were met halfway. Yes, he was ready for this, no matter how terrifying it seemed if he thought too hard about it. Not that he could think about much at all as Draco tenderly, cautiously, inserted a single finger, causing Harry to stiffen and suppress yet another groan. There was a bit of pain, and it couldn’t be ignored.

“Don’t people… er… use something? To make it feel better?” If there was a more awkward question to ask at that moment, Harry couldn’t think of what it was. 

“Oh! Fuck, I’m so sorry, hang on…” Draco’s finger left him feeling a tad raw, but he lifted himself off of him and watched as he got up and rummaged around the bedroom in search of something. “Here we are,” he declared, pulling a jar of something out of his dresser. 

“What is it?” Harry can’t help but ask. 

“It’s bath oil, but it’ll work. It’s forest scented, whatever that means, so at least it’ll smell good,” Draco explained as he walked back to the bed and sat beside Harry.

“Will it hurt? To use, I mean.” 

“It shouldn’t, it’s just essential oils and avocado oil. It’ll leave you feeling moisturised and smelling… like a forest, I suppose.” That didn’t sound too awful. At least Draco hadn’t thought it a good idea to use something like chest rub for colds. From personal experience Harry had learned the hard way just how badly that turned out. 

Watching with curiosity, Harry allows himself to relax as Draco poured a generous amount of the oil onto his hand, rubbing it around on his fingers. The nervousness was attempting to return, but Harry took a deep breath and willed it away as Draco leaned over him and tried again. 

“Oh! Oh…” _Shut up, shut up, you’re making it weird,_ Harry silently admonished himself for reacting so vocally to Draco’s second attempt to prepare him. By the small, amused grin on Draco’s face, Harry didn’t think he minded too much and decided that, if he could let Draco know him in the most intimate way, he could be his gawky self, even in the bedroom.

 

<>

 

In the aftermath of the two mens’ lost virginities, they lay tangled in a heap in the king sized bed, panting, sweaty, oil-slicked, and knackered. Harry’s arse felt a bit sore, and there were more than a few clumsy moments, but overall it had been an extremely pleasurable experience. Draco had been gentle, had spoken to him and made sure he was in as little pain as possible through the entire ordeal. Several times, Draco had even asked if he was still okay with what was transpiring between them, something that comforted Harry immensely. As far as first times went, he couldn’t have asked for a better one than that, though he didn’t have any basis for comparison whatsoever. He wasn’t sure if one was supposed to laugh during sex, but it didn’t seem to matter much. When Draco had accidentally pinched the back of Harry’s forearm in a sensitive area and caused him to yelp in pain, it was all either of them could do to laugh it off and continue on— after Draco had completely frozen in place and asked if he was alright, that is. It was definitely worth all the awkward moments, in Harry’s opinion, now that he lay in bed buzzing with the relief that came as soon as he’d gotten off. Something about being filled that way caused his orgasm to be the most intense he’d ever felt. _Thank Merlin for prostates._

“We…” Draco’s voice hitched and he gulped before trying again. “We should do that again some time.” Harry laughed, sounding breathy and exhausted, and trailed a lazy finger down the centre of Draco’s damp chest.

“Yeah, I think we should, too. Although, next time maybe we should move the bed away from the wall,” he suggested, remembering the startling loudness of the headboard slamming against it. 

“Agreed. And maybe the two of us should stretch beforehand,” Draco muttered, sounding embarrassed. “I can’t believe my hip cramped up like that. Probably ruined the moment, didn’t I?”

Harry nuzzled his face into Draco’s shoulder. “No, it didn’t. It lightened up the moment, probably.” In response to his reassurance, he felt Draco’s lips against his forehead, causing a strange vibrating sensation to spread out from the contact. For a split second Harry’s stomach clenched in fear, thinking that this was the start of his scar burning again, but the feeling never built to anything more than just that, a gentle vibration that was mild and sweet. 

“I’m not sure that oil manufacturer has ever been inside a forest,” Draco commented after a moment’s silence. “It didn’t smell like dirt or moss, or even trees for that matter.” Laughing, Harry shook his head against Draco’s shoulder.

“No, but it did smell nice either way. I think I prefer that to smelling like an actual forest.”

“If you say so,” Draco chuckled in return. “Though I think I’d like to buy something actually meant for this sort of thing before we have another go.” 

“It might… help.” Harry’s sentence was interrupted with a large yawn, which then spread to Draco.

“How cliche is it that we’ve decided to lose our virginities on Christmas day?” 

Harry snorted. “Very, but there’s no taking it back now, is there? Now please shut up, I’m tired.”

“That’s my line, you thief,” Draco retorted with no bite at all, planting another kiss on Harry’s forehead.

For quite a while, the two of them simply lay there, enjoying the afterglow of a good, albeit clumsy shag. Harry wondered what it would be like if he were to be inside of Draco instead of vice versa, and decided that next time they had sex he would request the change. If Draco wasn’t interested it wouldn’t be much of a loss; Harry rather liked the setup of things just the way it was. Still, he was curious. He imagined the scene that had just played out over and again as his eyelids grew heavier and his breathing deepened. 

The two of them didn’t get a very long nap, however, and awoke less than an hour later to the sound of Teddy crying in his crib. Harry shook Draco awake and began dressing, casting a few strong cleansing charms on himself, Draco, and the bed, before collecting Teddy and the presents for the Weasleys and Hermione.

“We’d better be on our way to The Burrow,” Harry said when he’d changed Teddy’s nappy and clothes, grabbed their gifts, and met Draco in the kitchen. “They’ll be expecting us by now.”

“Shouldn’t we feed Teddy before we go?” Draco asked as he opened up the pantry. Harry scoffed, but then remembered that Draco had never been to a Weasley Christmas before, so he wouldn’t know just how much food would soon be forced down their throats.

“Er, definitely not.”

“He just woke up, he’s got to be hungry,” Draco argued.

“In a moment he won’t be. Just wait.” Though Draco sent a skeptical frown his way, he dropped the matter. Harry did notice that, as he was grabbing a handful of Floo powder, he had an expression of trepidation on his face. Harry planted a small kiss on his cheek and said in a low voice, “Just you wait, Draco. You’ll love it, I promise.”


	25. Christmas Day Part Two

As Harry’s feet struck the cobble floor of the Weasleys’ hearth he was overcome with the sound of Celestina Warbeck’s voice. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes, but was barely given the time to before he was pulled into a tight embrace and his vision was blocked by a mane of fiery red hair.

“I’m so glad you made it,” Molly said as she moved from Harry to Draco, and Harry was surprised, despite feeling bad for it a second later, to see Molly hug Draco just as tightly.

“Of course we made it,” Draco replied, handing Teddy over to Molly’s eager arms so that she could dote over him. Although he tried to distract from it, Harry noticed the small pink patches that dotted Draco’s cheeks at Molly’s fondness. “We didn’t have much else to do.” Molly gave a smile, but as Harry’s eyes scanned the tiny sitting room, he noticed Ron was giving Draco a mild glare. At least he didn’t say something to start an argument. 

“Are you boys hungry?” Molly inquired as Harry went to sit beside Ron and Hermione. 

“Starving,” Ron said, patting his stomach.

“You just finished off an entire plate of turkey and potatoes, Ronald,” Hermione chided halfheartedly. “Honestly, I don’t understand how you manage to keep enough room for pudding half the time.” Ron merely shrugged as he picked up his plate for seconds.

Molly had really gone all out this year, and Harry thought he had an inkling as to why, with the care that she was showing in serving Draco. A surfeit of food and drink greeted Harry as he walked through the kitchen door: mince pies, baked potatoes, yorkshire pudding, brussel sprouts, treacle tart, a few casseroles, ham, and a sizeable turkey covered the counters of the small room. Molly refused to let them serve themselves and wasn’t content to let them return to the party until their plates were filled to spilling point.

“I didn’t think there would be this much food,” Draco whispered in Harry’s ear. Harry only responded with a smirk. Any notions Draco might still have had of the Weasleys having a shabby Christmas would hopefully be dashed by the end of the evening.

After they were sufficiently served according to Molly’s standards, they joined the rest of the group. Harry felt an overwhelming sense of heartwarming satisfaction as he looked around the crowded sitting room. George was sitting beside Ginny, who had done nothing but grin at Harry once throughout the evening so far, chatting about a new product he was working on; Molly and Arthur were slow dancing near the Christmas tree, which was covered from top to bottom in handmade ornaments; Hermione was holding Teddy and speaking softly to him, running her hands through his thickening orange hair. From time to time she would cast longing glances towards Ron, who was busy arguing with Percy about who was more likely to get the better gifts. 

He turned to Draco, about to comment on the scene, and found him chatting amicably with Bill about the sort of tasks he was expected to do as a curse breaker for Gringotts. Although he was pleased to see Draco fitting in so well with the Weasleys, Harry supposed that talking animatedly about curses was likely to get Draco a few suspicious glances if the rest of the family caught on. As much as Harry liked to believe that everyone had completely gotten over their preconceived notions and rivalries when it came to Draco, he knew that it might be hopeful thinking and quickly jumped into the conversation.

“How’s life as newlyweds?” he broke in at the earliest pause he could find in the conversation. Fleur had conveniently chose that moment to sit down beside her husband and Harry saw his opportunity to switch topics. “I mean, now that you can fully enjoy it,” he added with an awkward smile. Bill chuckled and Fleur gave him a loving glance.

“Quite nice, really, seeing as we’re no longer fighting for our lives and whatnot.” Bill apparently didn’t mind mentioning the hard times that had occured so recently.

“Yes, but zen, my ‘usband still finds a good amount of danger,” Fleur added with her signature tinkling laugh. That started a playful argument between the two of them, leaving Harry and Draco to talk finally. 

“What do you think?” Harry asked. “Is Christmas with the Weasleys as bad as you thought it would be?” Draco narrowed his eyes.

“I didn’t think it would be _bad,_ ” Draco said with an air of defensiveness. “It’s not bad. I’m actually enjoying myself.”

“Did you think you wouldn’t?” Harry shot back, eyebrows raised, although a subtle smile still clung to his lips. As he expected, Draco immediately began to argue.

“I— no, that isn’t— It’s just—” Draco spluttered and released an aggravated huff. Harry only chortled.

“I’m only teasing. You’re so easy to mess with.” That comment earned him a heated glare. “And incredibly cute when you’re angry. Although,” Harry added with mock sternness, “you ought not to judge them too harshly for being less extravagant than what you’re used to.” Draco displayed his irritation with a swift, albeit fairly gentle, kick to Harry’s foot. Rather than taunting Draco any further, Harry turned to Molly.

“Is Charlie coming, then?” He asked, noticing the absence of the Weasleys’ second oldest.

“Oh yes, he wrote and said that he might be arriving a little later, but that he was sure to be here.” Bill answered him too quickly to have not been paying attention to Draco and Harry’s little show. “He’s probably just been held up by that Peruvian dragon or whatever that was giving them trouble.”

“At least he keeps you updated,” Molly griped as she came to sit nearer to them, Arthur in tow. “I swear I haven’t heard a word from him since he told me he’d make it for Christmas weeks ago.”

“He’s a busy man,” Arthur responded, patting her knee affectionately. “We should be glad he’s coming at all.” As if on cue, the front door opened and a disheveled Charlie came strutting into the packed interior of the house.

“Sorry I’m late, mum,” he addressed Molly, brushing his singed clothes off in a rather pointless effort to look more orderly. “I would have made it on time, but we just got a new shipment of eggs from Siberia and it took a hell of an effort to get our nesting mother to cooperate.”

“Never mind that,” Molly said, squeezing him tightly. “Get yourself a plate. You look starved.” Harry didn’t think Charlie looked any different, but knew from experience that there was no use in arguing the point— not that Charlie would have wanted to, anyway; he merely shook his head, smiling, and allowed his mother to load his plate in the same manner that she had with Harry and Draco. 

As the Weasleys chatted and caught up around him, Harry couldn’t help but notice that Bill had been the only one to actually involve Draco in a conversation. Ron hardly looked over towards Harry and Draco’s direction, Arthur was busy talking to Charlie, now that he’d arrived, and Ginny seemed to have decided it would be best to pretend Harry and Draco weren’t there at all. It dawned on Harry that the aura of The Burrow was a bit more tense than he’d originally gathered, despite the general cheery air, and he had a suspicion that it had to do with Draco’s presence. Normally the Weasleys were much more friendly toward him, and the fact that Molly and Bill were the only two to actively engage with him described what no one was saying: they were uncomfortable, specifically Ginny. 

Just as Harry was about to try to talk to Ginny and ease her discomfort, Hermione dragged Ron over and the two of them sat down across from him and Draco. Teddy sat on Hermione’s lap, a lock of her hair wrapped around his fist. She winced a bit as Teddy tugged, but didn’t bother removing her hair from his grasp. 

“Merry Christmas, you two. Thank you for bringing this little gentleman.” She kissed the top of Teddy’s head, where his hair had turned a deep shade of chestnut brown, similar to Hermione’s own hair colour. 

“I’m not sure what else we would’ve done with him,” Harry said with a chuckle. “He’s not quite old enough to be left home alone.”

“Certainly not!” Hermione said, taking him more seriously than he’d meant her to. She held Teddy tighter to her bosom in a protective way and Harry thought to himself that she would make an excellent mother one day.

“Calm down, Hermione. It was a joke,” Ron explained. He heard Draco snigger beneath his breath. Hermione chose to ignore this, still staring down at Teddy lovingly.

“So how long will you be taking care of him, then?” she asked, more to Draco than to Harry.

“Er, well… We’re not actually━” 

Draco was spared answering by Molly interrupting with a shout of “Time for presents!” The witch held too many presents for her arms to hold as she began passing them out to their respective recipients. “Gather round, everyone!” From beside Harry he heard Draco sigh in what sounded like relief. “And the first one of course goes to you, love,” Molly said, handing Arthur a strangely shaped package, which turned out to be a fully functional, remote control model plane.

“Oh! Absolutely wonderful!” He looked at his children, his face full of wonder as he held up the aeroplane he’d unwrapped. “This is what the muggles use to travel long distances! It’s incredible that it doesn’t take any magic at all to keep those things in the air, though I’m still not sure how they’ve managed to do it. Thank you, dear!” Molly kissed him and resumed passing out the gifts while Arthur spun the propeller and muttered under his breath about the realism of it. Harry thought he could hear a small giggle from Hermione’s direction. It was, after all, generally a gift meant for children, but Arthur seemed enthralled with it. 

George and Percy received the next gifts. Percy opened up a new set of work robes and a book on magic and anthropology. George got a whoopie cushion and a snake nut can from Arthur, as well as a variety of magical ingredients for experimenting with and a ring that Molly had bewitched with protective charms.

“I’m always so worried when you’re inventing that you’re going to wind up hurting yourself,” Molly started as George began to protest, shaking his head but smiling all the same. “So I took it upon myself to put some basic spells on it. It should protect from small blasts and shrapnel, in most cases. I’m sorry I couldn’t do better, but I thought maybe I could at least give you some sort of armor. Do be careful, George.”

“Mum, I’ll be fine,” George responded with a small laugh. “You really didn’t need to— thanks, mum.” Molly shrugged, looking bashful, before moving on to Ron and Hermione.

Ron was less than thrilled with the moving Galvin Gudgeon figurine he opened. When he explained that Gudgeon had completely ruined the Chudley Cannons’ chance at winning (twice in one game) she flushed and apologised, claiming she hadn’t known and had bought it before that match had occurred. Ron’s second present was significantly better, and Molly was satisfied when she saw the look on his face when he opened the self-filling plate. 

“How did you━ this is too much, Mum!” Ron shouted excitedly.

“Not to worry, I picked it out,” said George. “Mum suggested it, though. It’ll keep filling itself up until you’re really full. Not that that ever happens.” 

Hermione was pleased to receive a traditional wizard cookbook and a framed photograph of her and Ron and Bill at Fleur’s wedding, which caused tears to spring to her eyes. Molly handed both Harry and Draco their presents at once and waited expectantly for them to open them.

Harry was a bit more than jealous when Draco opened his receipt for an hour long massage at Felix & Topia’s Spa and Beauty Parlour in Hogsmeade. After the hell he’d been put through with Auror training he felt he could use a massage just as much as Draco.

“I just figured, since you’ve been put under so much strain taking care of Teddy all the time, you’d like to be pampered a bit,” Molly explained. “I know how that goes, dear.”

“I━ thank you so much,” Draco beamed. He tucked the receipt into his pocket and scooted closer to Harry and, as if the loving gaze Molly was giving him was too much to bear, stared down at his hands.

“She didn’t get _me _a massage,” Ron mumbled across from him. Hermione elbowed his ribs and there were no more complaints from that direction, though Teddy chose that time to burp loudly, lightening the atmosphere by a lot.__

__At the sight of Draco’s sudden discomfort Harry had the urge to ask what was wrong, but there was no time, not to mention everyone was staring, waiting for him to open his presents. He pressed the side of his leg more firmly against Draco’s in the hopes that it could offer him some comfort._ _

__“Open them, Harry,” Hermione insisted. “Don’t keep us waiting, there’s more gifts to get through.”_ _

__As slowly as he possibly could, Harry began unwrapping his first present, staring directly at Hermione all the while. She rolled her eyes and Ron snickered. Finally, Harry took the last of the paper off and looked down to find what looked like a dragon leather wand holster with his name engraved near where his wand handle would rest. While it could’ve appeared store bought if one didn’t look closely enough, Harry could see little touches here and there that suggested it was handmade._ _

__“Is this— did you make this yourself?”_ _

__“Well, I engraved it. Charlie’s work provides dragon hide gifts— all ethically sourced, of course. They make them out of hide from dragons that died naturally. He managed to get a deal through his work and sent me the holster.”_ _

__“This is— how...?” Harry whispered. “It’s wonderful, Molly. I can’t believe you did this! Thank you. And thank you, too, Charlie,” He added, nodding to Charlie, who gave him a small smile in return._ _

__“There’s one more for you two. It’s a joint gift.”_ _

__Harry opened the second gift and smiled when he saw the mantle clock within the box he’d unwrapped. On it were three hands; one with Draco’s name, one with Teddy’s, and one with Harry’s. The design on this clock’s face was similar to the one Molly had, listing all the possible places they could be, including in imminent danger. Tears threatened to form in his eyes, but Harry managed to stave them off, though just barely._ _

__“You’ve got a family now,” Molly said softly. “You’ll want to know that they’re safe.” There was a wistful smile gracing her lips and her eyes glistened as though she were also holding back tears. “I was going to give you the highchair that I used for all of my children, but since you two went furniture shopping I didn’t think you’d need it.”_ _

__“I… I don’t know what to say,” Harry stammered. “Thank you so much.” Harry set the box containing the clock down and stood up, crossing the room to wrap his pseudo-mum in a tight hug. “Thank you,” he repeated in a strained whisper. Molly patted his back and sniffled. When they let each other go, there was a moment where the two of them simply stared lovingly at the other, and for one of the first times since Harry could remember, he felt as though this was what it was like to have a real mother._ _

__“Ahem.” Ron cleared his throat, interrupting the shared affection. “There’s more presents to open, so…”_ _

__“Ronald!” Molly chided halfheartedly. “Did I not teach you patience?” Placing her hands on her hips, Molly shook her head and continued handing out presents while Harry returned to his seat beside Draco._ _

__The rest of the gifts were passed out rather quickly, from what Harry could tell, and he suspected that Molly was giving him and Draco preferential treatment, something that made him a little uneasy. For one thing, he and Ron had just gotten back on speaking terms, and he didn’t think that his friend would appreciate Draco sharing that spot with him when he hadn’t ever really been okay with Harry being treated that way. For another, it put a sort of focus on them that Harry didn’t necessarily like being under. As much as he appreciated Molly’s gifts and care, it wasn’t necessary; they weren’t quite a family, after all, even if he and Draco were being assigned legal guardianship over Teddy._ _

__“Alright, everyone,” Molly said, causing the chatter to dim. “I’ve of course made jumpers for each of you, so you’ll put them on for the family photo and then everyone else can pass out their gifts. Here you are, Georgie… Ronald… Ginevra…” She began passing out the brightly coloured jumpers, stopping to smile fondly at Draco before moving on._ _

__“A… a Weasley jumper…?” Draco held up the green jumper with a large “D” in silver yarn and frowned. “But I didn’t think I’d get one…”_ _

__“Well, you have,” Harry said with a smile. He slipped his own red jumper over his head. “Put it on, then.” Draco eyed the jumper some more, continuing to frown at it. “Is something wrong?”_ _

__“No, it’s just…”_ _

__“Just put the damn jumper on, Malfoy!” George exclaimed cheerily. “Come on, come on!” And he shoved the jumper over Draco’s head._ _

__By the time George managed to wrestle him into his jumper, Draco’s hair had been thoroughly mussed, and Draco spent the next five minutes complaining about how George had ruined a morning’s work while finger-combing it back into place. Despite the mildly sour look on Draco’s face, Harry was pleased; it wasn’t a proper Weasley Christmas if everyone wasn’t wearing their hand-knitted gifts. When Molly had passed out all of the jumpers, one lumpy and significantly larger package remained of Weasley presents, which turned out to be for Teddy._ _

__“I thought maybe that would be a little more useful than a jumper at his age,” Molly stated as Harry held up the woolen blanket. “It’ll last him longer, at least. Babies have a tendency to make a mess of their clothes, but that blanket should last him, especially if my strengthening charms hold up.”_ _

__“It’s perfect,” Draco said, surprising Harry by shooting a beaming grin towards Molly. “Thank you for making these for us.” Harry had to wonder if Draco truly meant that, when only a bit ago George had had to force him into his jumper._ _

__Molly waved her hand and said, “Oh, it was nothing. I do it every year.” She turned and regarded everyone else. “Gather ‘round, gather ‘round. Draco, you brought the camera, right?” Harry squinted and looked to Draco._ _

__“She knew about the camera?” he asked, confused as to how she knew they had one._ _

__“I had to consult someone for what to get you, otherwise I would’ve just bought a bunch of Quidditch related things,” Draco explained. “So yes, she knows.” He pulled the camera from his robes, then handed it over to Molly to set it up with a timer._ _

__“Move in closer,” she instructed as the group moved together. “No, closer. Ginny, move towards Harry. George, knock that off!” Harry couldn’t see what George was doing, but suddenly he was shoulder to shoulder with Ginny, who he hadn’t even known he’s been standing next to. “Hermione, it’s time to give Teddy back to Harry and Draco.”_ _

__“Oh… alright…” Hermione stepped out of the group and gave Teddy to Draco. Draco then positioned Teddy so he was on his hip between himself and Harry._ _

__“Percy, don’t make that face— George! Knock that _off!_ ” _ _

__“I’m not doing anything!” George shouted with a laugh that sounded just like it used to. Molly glared at him in return._ _

__“I’m looking right at you,” she bit out. “Bill, if you could switch places with Ron so you’re standing next to Fleur? Thank you.” Molly searched the group one last time for anything that could ruin the photo and then set the timer on the camera._ _

__“Is it always like this?” Draco whispered._ _

__“Only most of the time,” Harry whispered back. He heard Draco snort before the camera shutter released and their photo was taken._ _

__“Don’t move!” Molly cried as she squeezed her way out of the group of Weasleys. “One more, just in case George pulled anything.”_ _

__“I didn’t, honestly!” But George was snickering in a way that suggested he had._ _

__Harry heard several groans coming from the crowd before the timer was set again and everyone had to pose. Just as the shutter went off, Teddy released a rather loud fart and it could be heard over the sound of the picture being captured. It seemed everyone turned to look at Teddy, then, and broke into laughter._ _

__“What an excellent photo that should be,” George commented with a hearty chortle that could be heard above the rest. “I didn’t even have to stage that one. Seems like I’ve got a joke shop apprentice in the making!”_ _

__“I’d better get that,” Draco mumbled as he stepped away and left the room. Harry was then left standing alone with Ginny as the rest of the Weasleys went into smaller groups to mingle._ _

__“Merry Christmas, Harry,” Ginny said with a soft smile. “Do you like your gifts?”_ _

__“I do, yeah,” Harry said, resisting the urge to rub the back of his neck. That was sure to show her exactly how uncomfortable he was. After she had acknowledged him at the beginning of the evening, she had completely ignored his presence. Talking to her now, he didn’t really know what to say. “I liked your Holyhead Harpies poster,” he said, trying his best to seem lighthearted._ _

__“So do I.” Ginny seemed to be struggling with something for a moment, then said, “I don’t mean to… That is, I’m wondering if you and—” She breathed out a heavy sigh. “Are you and Draco engaged? It’s just that I saw the ring he’s wearing, and… y’know…” Harry’s eyes widened in confusion and alarm._ _

__“Oh— no!” He shook his head quickly, wondering how she got that impression, but also knowing precisely how she had. “No, it’s too soon for that, and it’s not even legal. It’s a promise ring. God, is that what everyone’s been thinking?” Ginny’s cheeks tinted pink and she glanced away for a split second._ _

__“Not-not everyone, but… most of us, yeah.” Her demeanor changed from embarrassed to apologetic. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable, but I had to ask.”_ _

__“Is that why you haven’t talked to me all evening?” Ginny shuffled her feet, giving her away before she could answer._ _

__“That’s not the _only_ reason.” She fiddled with the sleeve of her robes and chewed her lower lip a bit before she said, “I wasn’t sure how to talk to you, really.”_ _

__“Well, ‘hi’ usually works,” Harry joked. He paused, then continued more seriously, “I know what you mean, though. I wasn’t sure if you even wanted to talk to me, especially knowing how you feel about Draco.”_ _

__“ _I_ don’t even know how I feel about him, so I don’t see how you could.” Harry’s eyes met Ginny’s, trying to gather her meaning. “I mean, he was always a huge prat in school, but…” She hesitated._ _

__“But?” Harry raised his eyebrows. He tried not to get too hopeful, but he considered the fact that she wasn’t completely bashing Draco to be an encouraging sign, if only slightly._ _

__“Well, Mum seems to think he’s alright, and I’ve never known her to put her trust in people who didn’t deserve it. I just don’t know, though. I think she reckons he’s changed or something, but she never saw the way he was before.” Ginny looked down, her eyebrows scrunched together in contemplation. Harry, who sensed that she had more to say, kept his own mouth shut. “I can’t understand it though, Harry: how can you possibly trust him after all that happened just last year?”_ _

__A long moment stretched between them before Harry answered. He knew that he couldn’t satiate Ginny with just any explanation, that he had to provide her with some real evidence. Certainly she could see the difference herself from this evening. Apparently she needed Harry’s own testimony before she would begin to see the way Draco had changed. The only problem was, how was he supposed to put all of the things they’d gone through together into words?_ _

__“You probably can’t understand until you’ve gotten to know him better,” Harry began, completely unsure of himself. “I thought that you, and everyone else, would see how much he’s grown by seeing how he’s been tonight, honestly. I guess I can’t blame you if that’s not enough.”_ _

__“It’s not that it isn’t enough— well, maybe it isn’t,” Ginny hastily corrected herself. “But you’re right. He’s been really… well behaved tonight, I suppose, compared to how he normally is. Still, it doesn’t prove much aside from the fact that he’s at least really good at pretending to like us.” Harry nodded. He could understand where Ginny was coming from, but he wished she could see that Draco wasn’t just pretending. Harry could see that, despite Draco’s hesitation to come, he was enjoying himself._ _

__“He’s not pretending, as far as I can tell. You know how good he is at pretending to like people,” Harry chuckled, and was glad when Ginny laughed with him and nodded her head. “When I first offered for him to live with me, I was doing it more out of pity and obligation than anything else. Actually, I was sort of dreading living with him,” he said candidly, hoping Draco wasn’t in earshot. “But after living with him and seeing what he’s like… I don’t know, I just started to see that he wasn’t really who I thought he was. We started opening up to each other and I got to know more about what he really thinks about the way he was raised. I won’t go into much detail, because I think most of what he told me is probably confidential, but… he’s different. That’s all I can really say without feeling like I’m betraying his trust. At least, on that subject specifically._ _

__“He doesn’t call Hermione a mudblood anymore, he actually talks to Kreacher like a person, he’s starting to see why I’m friends with Ron, I think, and I can tell he loves your mum just as much as I do, though he’s probably embarrassed to admit it. You should see the way he is with Teddy.” Harry smiled fondly as he recalled some of the more precious moments he’d witnessed between his boyfriend and their ward. “He’s a genuinely good person. It took me a while to see that, but I reckon it would’ve taken less time if he hadn’t tried so hard to come off as a prat when we were younger. Then again, I probably could’ve tried harder to understand him.” As Harry spoke, Ginny’s face had taken on a number of expressions. She’d gone from skeptical to smug, then from smug to wistful._ _

__“You really do love him, don’t you?” Ginny asked softly. Harry nodded, for some reason not wanting to say that he did out loud to her, especially since he hadn’t yet said it to Draco. “I didn’t want to believe that you did. Even when I saw the ring and thought that you two might be engaged, I didn’t see how anyone could love someone like him.” When Harry opened his mouth to defend Draco, Ginny cut him off. “Sorry, Harry, that’s just how I felt, so don’t even start. I still don’t really understand why you love him, but I think I can accept it fully now. I’m happy for you. For both of you.”_ _

__“Thank you, Ginny,” Harry breathed. “I’m really glad to hear you say that.” And it was true. Harry hadn’t really known just how much he’d wanted to hear her say something like that, but now that she had he was hit with a wave of relief._ _

__“So… friends?” Ginny asked tentatively, holding out her right hand._ _

__“Friends,” Harry agreed as he placed his left hand into hers. The two smiled amicably enough, but when he tried to pull his hand away after a moment he didn’t think he imagined the way Ginny’s tightened for the briefest moment._ _

__

__< >_ _

__

__“You’re getting the next nappy,” Draco groaned as he stepped up beside Harry and watched Ginny’s eyes fall. He’d heard every word of their conversation, but he wasn’t about to embarrass either of them— specifically Harry— by letting on that he had. “I’ve gotten all of them so far today and I swear he just let off a pile of dungbombs in there.” Ginny sniggered as Harry grumbled petulantly and grabbed Teddy up. “Don’t even start, you have no idea how many I change while you’re at work.”_ _

__“Not complaining, just seeing the future,” Harry retorted with a sigh._ _

__“How’s it looking?” Ginny asked with a smirk._ _

__“Brown.”_ _

__More people than were actually involved in the conversation laughed at Harry’s witty remark, which made Draco realise that perhaps he wasn’t the only person who’d overheard Harry profess his love for him, albeit silently, to Ginny Weasley. That sort of irked Draco, that Harry was able to not-say it to her, but still hadn’t said it to him, but the ring and the fact that he’s admitted it at all was certainly a step forward. It was sort of difficult for him to be upset about it, when he really thought about how much effort it must’ve taken him to come that far. And he’d decided to be patient, so there really wasn’t much to complain about… aside from the mention of Harry pitying him. He’d definitely be bringing that up later._ _

__“So we’re handing out our own gifts now, right?” Draco asked, attempting to draw Ginny’s rapt attention away from Harry. It didn’t go unnoticed that Ginny seemed very taken in by the fact that Harry held an infant and it was very difficult, indeed, to quell the bolt of jealousy that rang through him._ _

__“Oh! Right,” Harry said and shifted Teddy to his other hip so he could take the gifts they’d brought out of his front pocket. Draco’s jealousy was suddenly replaced by relief that Harry had at least been smart enough not to put the presents in his back pocket, because most of them would be ruined if he had sat on them._ _

__“Buh buh buh buh,” Teddy commented as he reached for the presents Harry grew to original size._ _

__“No, Teddy, these are for the others,” Harry explained gently, keeping the brightly packaged items out of Teddy’s greedy reach. “You’ve had yours already. Alright, so Hermione, Ron, here’s yours…” He handed them their gift and continued passing out the others, and Draco discreetly stayed where he was so he’d have a nice view of Weasley’s face when he opened the present that Draco had picked out._ _

__“No way!” Weasley exclaimed. Granger rolled her eyes, but there was a smile playing at her lips as she looked over the Chudley Cannons comforter Weasley had to stand to display fully. “Harry, mate, this is too much!”_ _

__“Honestly,” Granger agreed dryly, “it’s too much.”_ _

__“Oh hush, it’s beautiful,” Weasley shot back as he held the large blanket protectively to his chest. “It’s so soft!”_ _

__“Draco picked it out,” Harry called from across the room, where he was giving Molly and Mr. Weasley their present._ _

__“It’s… he did?” Weasley asked as he slowly turned to look at Draco. Draco offered a smirk and raised one eyebrow, which only added to the flustered expression on Weasley’s face. “Er, thanks Malfoy.”_ _

__“That was really kind of you, Draco,” Granger said, sounding too forceful about it. While Draco was thankful for the fact that she was trying to make this easier for him, it was getting a bit irritating that she thought it necessary to lay her niceness on so thickly._ _

__“There’s one in there for you, too,” Draco told her. She looked visibly surprised before reaching back into the gold gift bag and pulling out the VHS tapes he had picked out specifically for her._ _

__“ _Sense and Sensibility_? _Pride and Prejudice _!” she cried in awe. “But— Draco, I can already tell that Harry didn’t pick these out. How did you know?”___ _

____“I… remember you reading them in school,” he admitted sheepishly._ _ _ _

____“Really?” Weasley asked, interrupting what Draco had meant to be a friendship-building moment. “She read how many books? I don’t think I could list any of the titles of books she read, except maybe _Hogwarts: A History_.”_ _ _ _

____“Well, I read a lot of books back then, too, though I made sure to do it in the dormitory rather than out in the open,” Draco confided, looking more at Granger than Weasley. “I was always hungry for a new book, and I’d pretty much read everything in the Malfoy library, so when I saw you reading those I sort of…”_ _ _ _

____“You read the books I read, didn’t you?” Granger said with a knowing smile._ _ _ _

____“I had to keep it a secret from my father, of course. Imagine if he’d found out I’d been reading a muggle book.” Both he and Granger shared a mutual wince at the thought and then began laughing. “I hope you don’t already own those.”_ _ _ _

____“I don’t, actually. I’ve been meaning to pick these up, but I can never manage to remember them when I’m out shopping. Thank you so much, Draco.”_ _ _ _

____“You’re welcome, Granger.”_ _ _ _

____“Hermione,” she corrected. Weasley looked at her aghast before twisting his face into an expression of determination._ _ _ _

____“Yeah, and it’s Ron,” he said as he looked at Draco with obvious challenge._ _ _ _

____“Alright… Hermione. And Ron.” It felt incredibly strange to him, using their first names, but he thought he could make the switch easily with Hermione. Weas—Draco shook himself mentally— Ron would take some getting used to._ _ _ _

____“Oh! Everyone, Ron has an announcement to make,” Hermione called above the rabble in the Weasley home._ _ _ _

____“Ickle Ronniekins is pregnant?” George offered loudly, causing Charley to snicker loudly._ _ _ _

____“George!” Molly chided, slapping her son on the arm, but also hiding a grin._ _ _ _

____“No,” Hermione said stiffly, and it became even clearer that her desire to hold Teddy so much earlier had dual meaning. “Ron, care to fill everyone in?”_ _ _ _

____“I’ve got into Auror Training!” he shouted, his eyes easily finding Harry as he shared a look of pure excitement with him._ _ _ _

____“Excellent!” Harry yelled in return, crossing the room to embrace Ron and slap him on the back. The other Weasleys all congratulated Ron in turn and Draco offered a quiet congratulations as well._ _ _ _

____“Looks like you two have an announcement to make as well,” George pointed out loudly, and motioned towards Draco’s left hand. “So who’ll be wearing the dress and who’ll be wearing the suit? Or are you both wearing dresses?”_ _ _ _

____“That’s offensive, George,” Hermione said absently as she resumed gawking at her new VHS tapes._ _ _ _

____“It’s not an engagement ring,” Harry sighed in exasperation._ _ _ _

____“Are you sure about that?” George inquired._ _ _ _

____“Absolutely sure. It isn’t even legal for the same sex to marry,” Harry repeated one of the reasons he’d given Ginny earlier._ _ _ _

____“Then what’s it for?” Bill asked, and Draco blushed as he recalled the way he’d stared at Draco’s hand off and on while they’d been chatting at the beginning of the evening. Harry turned around to regard Bill, his face lit up as brightly as the Christmas tree, but more red than anything._ _ _ _

____“It’s a promise ring,” Ginny said from her seat beside Percy the Prat, as Draco referred to him mentally. “You know, for when you want to prove to someone you love them, but you also don’t want to be creepy by proposing after a short time.”_ _ _ _

____“Why would it be creepy to propose after a short time?” Fleur asked, sounding a bit tetchy._ _ _ _

____“You love Malfoy?” Percy the Prat asked in his haughty voice. Draco sincerely hoped he didn’t sound that way when he spoke, though he knew their accents were more similar to each other than the rest of the Weasleys were. “I thought he was just here because he didn’t have anywhere else to go for the holidays. I didn’t even know Harry was gay.”_ _ _ _

____“Not quite gay,” Harry said. “I’m—”_ _ _ _

____“I was actually sort of wondering why he was here, too,” Charlie said kind of quietly. “I’m not really in the loop about these things.” He shot a mild glare at Bill, who apparently was his link to the World of Weasley._ _ _ _

____“Hey, now,” Bill retorted. “I’ve only just found out about this myself, so don’t look at me that way.”_ _ _ _

____“Oh, for the love of— all of you stop this ridiculousness!” Molly demanded. Draco shot her a grateful smile. “I’m sure Draco’s struggling enough to feel at home right now without all of you gossiping about him _while he’s right here!_ ”_ _ _ _

____“Yes, please wait until I’ve gone home to discuss how mad Harry is for finding my arse ambrosial,” Draco deadpanned, not at all expecting the raucous laughter George exploded with. After, that is, he’d spit his drink all over the back of Percy the Prat’s head._ _ _ _

____“You great idiot!” Percy whined as he cast a drying charm on his head and robes. “These are new!”_ _ _ _

____“I didn’t want to like you, Malfoy, but I might have to change my ways after that comment,” George said, offering a large smile to Draco and completely ignoring Percy the Prat._ _ _ _

____“Draco, you may not be my son by blood, but I’ll expect you to watch your tongue here,” Molly said gently._ _ _ _

____“She never tells me to watch my tongue like that,” Ron complained again. “Ow!” And apparently Hermione had elbowed him in the ribs yet again, though Draco hadn’t seen it happen. He was too distracted by the fact that Molly had just suggested that he was her son in some other way than blood._ _ _ _

____In the space of maybe two minutes Draco had gone from swiveling his head back in forth to catch everyone’s quips and questions and outburst to withdrawing from the conversation entirely in order to focus on the incredible honour Molly had just given him with such simple words. It was bad enough that he was not-missing his actual mother at that moment, but now he felt even guiltier because he felt as though he yearned to replace her with Molly’s good-natured, accepting motherly self._ _ _ _

____“Hey,” Harry said as he sat down beside Draco, successfully pulling him out of his miserable thoughts. “You alright?” Draco nodded, but couldn’t meet Harry’s eyes. “No, you’re not. What’s wrong?”_ _ _ _

____“Draco, Harry,” Mr. Weasley interrupted, saving Draco from answering Harry’s uncomfortable question. “Thank you so much for the de-gnomer! Those things are always a pest in the spring and summer, and it’ll save Molly and I loads of yard work.”_ _ _ _

____“It’s no problem at all, sir,” Draco said respectfully._ _ _ _

____“Arthur. Call me Arthur,” he said with a large smile and a pat on Draco’s shoulder. He nodded to Harry just as kindly before wandering off._ _ _ _

____“Oi! Thanks, you two!” George called._ _ _ _

____“Thanks Harry, Malfoy,” Percy said stiffly._ _ _ _

____“Really appreciate your thoughtful gift,” Charlie said._ _ _ _

____“Sank you very much, boys,” Fleur said as she placed the silver flower hairpin they’d chosen for her near her left ear._ _ _ _

____“Yeah, thanks.” Bill winked at Harry, which caused Harry to blush a bit, yet again, and smile weirdly before mumbling something and looking away. Draco couldn’t help but narrow his eyes at Harry’s reaction to Bill’s appreciation. Harry didn’t blush when anyone else had said thank you, but perhaps it was Bill’s wink that had caused that. Draco decided to test his theory subtly._ _ _ _

____“So Bill,” he began, turning away from Harry to regard the rugged looking man. “How long did you and Fleur wait before getting married?”_ _ _ _

____“Oh, not very long. With the war so close at hand we sort of rushed things a bit,” Bill explained. “We got engaged the first year we were together.”_ _ _ _

____“That’s understandable. And you had the wedding here?”_ _ _ _

____“We did,” Fleur replied with a smile. “It was eizer zat or get married in France, and we didn’t exactly have much of a choice, financially. It was a very beautiful wedding.” Draco admired her French accent and tried very hard not to think of his mother attempting to teach him the language as he listened to Fleur speak._ _ _ _

____“It’s a lovely property,” Draco replied with a smile. “Did Harry go?”_ _ _ _

____“He did, but it was probably a bad idea, even in disguise,” Bill said with a grimace, then leaned past Draco to look at Harry. “Don’t know if I ever really apologised for that. I should’ve listened to Fleur and not let you come. If I’d known you’d be put at risk like that…” Draco turned to watch Harry’s expression, which had replicated the one he’d worn just before when Bill thanked him: slightly pink cheeks, weird smile, sort of raised eyebrows._ _ _ _

____“It wasn’t, er, your fault,” Harry said slowly, tripping over his words a bit. “It’s not like you knew the… _they_ were coming.”_ _ _ _

____“You can say ‘Death Eaters,’ Harry,” Draco said gently, patting Harry’s thigh sympathetically. “What happened? I was kept pretty much in the dark around that time. Nobody told me what raids they were doing. Did you make it out alright?”_ _ _ _

____“No, I died,” Harry said jokingly, then shook his head. “We made it out alright, thanks to Hermione’s quick thinking. The Death Eaters showed up right after the dancing had started. It was strange, one minute everyone was dancing and the next we were listening to Kingsley’s Patronus message telling us the Ministry had fallen into Voldemort’s hands and the Minister was dead. Then we were running for our lives. What an intense night.”_ _ _ _

____“You don’t say,” Fleur sighed. “So much for a honeymoon.”_ _ _ _

____“We had our honeymoon eventually,” Bill said half-defensively. “Just… after the war ended.”_ _ _ _

____“Hmm, and what a nice honeymoon we had. I’ve never been to ze Bahamas before.”_ _ _ _

____“I’m glad I went, though. It may have been intense, but it was worth seeing you two get married. I’d never been to a wedding before that, muggle or magical, so I’m glad for the experience.”_ _ _ _

____“We’re glad you went too, Harry, but I still wish we’d known what would happen later,” Bill said with a grimace. “I’m just glad nothing happened to you.”_ _ _ _

____Again Draco looked at Harry’s reaction to Bill’s words and his suspicions were confirmed. Harry had a crush on Bill. For whatever reason, it didn’t make Draco jealous, however. More so it just made him want to tease Harry about it, which was weird because he did feel jealous about the fact that Ginny still seemed to harbor feelings for Harry. Shouldn’t it be the opposite?_ _ _ _

____Harry, Bill, and Fleur continued chatting about the wedding night and what they’d each gone through respectively as Draco contemplated his lack of jealousy. Maybe it was healthy that he felt that way, in the end. After all, jealousy was only bound to create more tension between them. But why be jealous of Ginny, then? He had Harry, and he’d given him this ring. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Bill was married, or that he was older. In any sense, he was less attainable, so perhaps that explained it. The fear of Harry retreating to his relationship with Ginny was an insecurity he didn’t want to admit he had, and something he planned to eradicate before it grew into something ridiculous._ _ _ _

____As Draco continued to watch Harry watching Bill animatedly describe his honeymoon to the Bahamas, he wondered if Harry even realised the secret attraction he was fostering. It would be all too easy to use this as bait to tease Harry with, and Draco couldn’t help but smirk a little at the thought. He’d probably wait until they were home to do anything like that, though, in case he actually did embarrass Harry accidentally. Never let it be said that Draco wasn’t considerate, even if he still had a bit of a rough edge from time to time._ _ _ _

____The night went on pretty well from there, and Draco had even had a friendly-ish conversation with Ron about Quidditch. They’d not agreed on which team was best to support; Ron was dead set on supporting the Cannons, though they hadn’t done well in a rather long time, and Draco was more of a Montrose Magpies man, as they’d actually proven their worth by being rated the most successful team. They’d won the League cup over thirty times. This didn’t sway Ron, though, and he continued to prattle on about how the Cannons were bound to turn around their losing streak eventually._ _ _ _

____“You only like them because they’ve got black as their team colour,” Ron had accused of him. “And anyway, you should wear some colour from time to time; you don’t want to come off as drab.”_ _ _ _

____“As if this—” he gestured up and down the length of himself, “—could be considered drab. Ask Harry if he thinks I’m drab, why don’t you?”_ _ _ _

____“Oh, for the love of Godric Gryffindor’s bollocks! I don’t want to know. And anyway, at least the Cannons are in it for more than just winning.”_ _ _ _

____“And what are they in it for? Are they attempting to earn a trophy for Least Wins in History? Because if there’s a trophy for that, I’m sure they’ll win it eventually.” Draco smirked at Ron’s outraged gasp. “No worries, mate, you’ll grow up eventually and figure out that other teams exist outside of that horrid orange monstrosity.”_ _ _ _

____“Take that back!” Ron shouted, but then faltered. “Did… did you just call me mate?” Draco had to think back on what he’d just said before responding._ _ _ _

____“I suppose I did,” he said slowly. He hadn’t really meant to, but there it was._ _ _ _

____“Never thought I’d hear that coming out of your mouth in a bajillion years,” Ron muttered._ _ _ _

____“Bajillion is not a number, Ronald,” Hermione corrected absently before turning back around to resume talking with Molly. Ron pulled a face at the back of her head and then looked back at Draco with a strange expression in his face that could only mean something awful was about to take place between them._ _ _ _

____“Listen, Mal— er, I mean Draco,” Ron started off as he glanced at the uneven floorboards, and if that wasn’t the harbinger of doom Draco had expected, he didn’t know what was. “I know we haven’t gotten along, really… like, ever. I sort of hated your face for the longest time. Well, not just your face, but the rest of you, too. The way you talk like a posh wanker, the way you sneered, the way you walked like you’d had this stick shoved so far up your arse—”_ _ _ _

____“Is this meant to be some form of apology?” Draco asked, bewildered and yet amused all the same. “Because I’m feeling oh so sentimental right now, thanks to you.”_ _ _ _

____“Anyway, we didn’t get along at all.” Draco waited for more, but it seemed as though Ron had finished._ _ _ _

____“Well, this has been enlightening,” he muttered as he got ready to stand and retrieve Teddy from Hermione again in the hopes he could provide a decent distraction from the awkwardness taking place._ _ _ _

____“Sorry! Was just trying to figure out what I was trying to say,” Ron said, waving his hands in a way that suggested Draco sit back down a moment. “I think I can put the past behind me… for Harry, mind. Not for you. I’m still not convinced you’re much different, but you’ve been really… Well… Not bad tonight. So maybe Harry’s right about you. Maybe.”_ _ _ _

____“You sound so convinced.” Draco sighed and decided it might not be so bad to offer the same sort of peace treaty to Ron as well. “You haven’t been nearly as irritating, piggish, loud, and uneducated tonight as I’d always assumed you were,” he admitted uncomfortably._ _ _ _

____“You didn’t see him put away his first helping of dinner, so leave out ‘piggish’ for now,” Hermione threw over her shoulder, and it was clear that, though she’d been appearing to pay close attention to Molly, she was also paying just as much attention to Draco and Ron as well._ _ _ _

____“I suppose I can put the past behind me, too. But I don’t think we’ll ever agree when it comes to Quidditch. Or fashion, or appropriate bed attire, or a multitude of other things, probably, that would take me far too long to list in one evening.”_ _ _ _

____“So… what are we now?” Ron asked as he fidgeted with a loose thread on his trousers. “Buddies? Friends? Mates?”_ _ _ _

____“All of the above, Ron,” Draco laughed. “So long as you never, ever, comment on things being up my arse again. Those words coming out of your mouth is just… it’s not something I think I’ll ever recover from, and I’m probably going to have nightmares for weeks, now.”_ _ _ _

____“Both of you! Language!” Molly shouted, and Draco actually felt like a Weasley kid for once. While, once upon a not-very-long time ago, Draco would’ve shot himself straight in the head with the Killing Curse for feeling that way, now he felt his heart swell painfully against his ribcage at the thought._ _ _ _

____“ _That’s_ more what I’m used to,” Ron chuckled. “And that’s a fair request. After I’d said it I sort of regretted it instantly, so I’ll probably be right there with you on the nightmares thing. You know, mental image and all that.”_ _ _ _

____“Okay, subject change,” Hermione cut in, not even bothering to pretend she wasn’t listening anymore. “You’ll both be having nightmares of me boxing your ears if I have to listen to this talk of bums and penetration any longer. Except they won’t be nightmares, they’ll be memories.”_ _ _ _

____“Hermione! Did you just say penetration?” George boomed, squeezing himself in between her and Ron. “My word, you’ve become quite the potty-talker.”_ _ _ _

____“You obviously didn’t hear the majority of Ron and Draco’s conversation, then,” she said with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “You’d have had a field day commenting on that.”_ _ _ _

____“Oh? And what did they discuss? Penetrating each other’s bums? I thought Harry had claimed that territory as his.” Draco felt his entire neck and face heat at George’s quip. He obviously couldn’t know that he and Harry had only had sex once, and it’d been Harry bottoming rather than him, but it was still something he’d never thought he’d be discussing with anyone other than Harry. And, in fact, he didn’t plan to discuss it with anyone other than Harry._ _ _ _

____“I’m going to have to agree with Hermione,” Draco said, before George could come up with anything else to set his skin aflame. “It’s time for a subject change.”_ _ _ _

____“Yes, please,” Harry said, sounding incredibly pained. Glancing over at him, Draco saw that he wasn’t the only one suffering from emotional sunburn over the topic of conversation._ _ _ _

____“Actually, I’m probably going to head to bed for the night,” Hermione said, and promptly yawned, causing the word ‘night’ to sound more like the sound a horse makes. Standing up and handing Harry Teddy, she regarded them all. “It was lovely visiting with everyone, and it was incredibly nice to see you smiling, Draco. It’s a nice change from the last time we met.”_ _ _ _

____“You two met up?” Ron asked, immediately sounding begrudging._ _ _ _

____“Oh, please, Ron. I went to visit Harry, and you know Draco lives with him.” She rolled her eyes again and placed a chaste kiss on Ron’s creased forehead before offering goodnight farewells to the others and heading up the stairs._ _ _ _

____“We’re going to head out now as well,” Bill said as he and Fleur returned from the kitchen. Draco hadn’t noticed them disappear, but now that they’d returned he noticed Harry’s eyes swiftly fly over to the eldest Weasley. “Thanks for everything mum and dad.”_ _ _ _

____“Yes, it was a very lovely Christmas,” Fleur said as she followed Bill’s lead in embracing her in-laws and kissing their cheeks. “We will ‘ave to come and visit soon. Or you could come to see our ‘ome, too. It’s been a long time since you saw ze ‘ouse.”_ _ _ _

____“That would be perfect, Fleur,” Arthur said as he smiled fondly at her. “You two travel safely, alright? Let us know when you’ve got time for a visit and I’ll try to take time off work.”_ _ _ _

____“Look at all these old people going to bed early,” George teased as he watched Percy stand and brush his robes off. “It’s only midnight.”_ _ _ _

____“It is?” Harry asked, slightly alarmed. “It’s way past Teddy’s bed time. We’d better get him home, too, actually.”_ _ _ _

____“Old people,” George repeated with a disappointed shake of his head._ _ _ _

____“I’m younger than you, you know,” Harry said with a laugh._ _ _ _

____“Maybe physically. Up here,” he said as he tapped his head, “I’m as spry as Teddy. I bet he and I could pull an all-nighter if we tried hard enough.”_ _ _ _

____“You’re a bad influence, George,” Molly said as she wrapped Harry in a hug and then proceeded to do the same to Draco. “Thank you so, so much for coming, Draco,” she whispered in his ear. “I hope you’ve had a good night, dear.”_ _ _ _

____“I did, actually,” he said honestly. “This has been one of the best Christmases I’ve ever had, I think. It’s definitely the first one I’ve had where I’ve been able to relax this much. But then, there wasn’t much relaxing around my house on a normal day.”_ _ _ _

____Molly looked at Draco with a sad smile curving her aging face and patted his cheek lovingly. He didn’t think his mother had ever done that, but he also wasn’t thinking about his mother right then, or in the future. His expression must’ve given him away, though, because Molly was soon pulling him into a second embrace and he swore he could hear Ron muttering something in a dejected tone about her “never hugging me twice in a row.”_ _ _ _

____“You boys have a good night, now,” Arthur said from his chair near the fireplace as the three of them approached. “And thanks to both of you for helping make another Weasley Christmas for the records.”_ _ _ _

____“Night, Arthur,” Harry replied with a smile as he leaned down to awkwardly hug the man while also holding Teddy. Draco attempted to pass Arthur by, but was stopped by the man’s arm blocking his path._ _ _ _

____“You’re wearing a Weasley jumper,” Arthur stated obviously. “And that implies that you’re part of the family now, weather you like it or not. In this family we hug each other before we leave. Of course, if that makes you uncomfortable no one will force you, but—”_ _ _ _

____Draco swallowed any feelings of unease about hugging anyone but Molly and leaned down to wrap his arms around Arthur for a brief moment, averting his gaze as he righted himself._ _ _ _

____“Thank you,” Draco said quietly, trying to ignore the proud smile he was being offered._ _ _ _

____He and Harry took the Floo home and immediately Draco felt as though he could breathe more easily. It wasn’t that he’d been overly uncomfortable at the Burrow, but he felt immensely better now that he was back at Grimmauld Place, where he and Harry could discuss bums and penetration all they wanted without any red-headed interruptions or teasing._ _ _ _

____“Could you get Teddy ready for bed?” Harry asked as he rubbed his eyes in a very sleepy manner._ _ _ _

____“I can, if you warm up a bit of formula for him.” Draco took Teddy from Harry’s arms after he’d kissed the lad’s head affectionately and climbed up the stairs toward the nursery._ _ _ _

____After changing Teddy’s nappy one final time and changing him into some warm, soft pyjamas, Harry came in with the bottle and Draco took Teddy over to the rocking chair to feed him as they snuggled. It was getting closer to the time when Teddy would have to stop drinking bottles altogether, if the infant development books he’d read were anything close to accurate. He’d miss these times, he’d miss cradling Teddy in his arms and watching him suckle away at the milk-like contents of his bottle as he gazed curiously up at Draco and kept strangely intense eye contact with him. He’d cherish these moments as much as possible while he could still have them, because if there was anything Draco had learned thoroughly in life, it was that nothing lasted for nearly as long as he wished it could._ _ _ _

____Once the bottle was finished, Draco rested Teddy in his swing and set it to the lowest rocking pattern, then crept to the sitting room to retrieve his cello, checking on the way to make sure Harry wasn’t lurking somewhere. He lay the cello case on the floor of Teddy’s nursery and carefully pulled it out, tuning it by ear before coating his bow in the right amount of rosin._ _ _ _

____“My mother changed the lyrics a bit for me, so I’m going to start a tradition and change the lyrics up a bit for you. Don’t speak a word of this to Harry, I’ll be mortified.”_ _ _ _

____Teddy simply sighed in reply, too sleepy to even muster his usual bedtime giggles. Supposing that was as much as an agreement as he was bound to get, Draco began playing the intro to the traditional Irish lullaby his mother had sung to him every night when he was a child._ _ _ _

____“Rest tired eyes a while, sweet is thy Teddy’s smile. Unicorns are guarding and they watch o’er thee. Sleep, sleep, grah mo chree, here on your cousin’s knee. Unicorns are guarding and they watch o’er thee. The birdeens sing a fluting song, they sing to thee the whole day long. Wee fairies dance o’er hill and dale, for very love of thee…”_ _ _ _

____As Draco continued to sing and play he had to try very hard not to let his throat close up with the tears that threatened to fall. Christmas was officially over and he no longer had a mother to visit over the holiday— not a real one, anyway. Singing this particular lullaby may have been a bad idea, but now that he’d started he wasn’t going to stop mid-way through. Narcissa had sung “...here on your mama’s knee,” but those lyrics had been more fitting for when he was a young boy sitting on his mother’s lap as she rocked him and sang this very song. Now he was improvising, though the lyrics didn’t flow as well as they had when she’d sung it._ _ _ _

____Once finished with the song, Draco smiled as he looked up at Teddy’s now-sleeping form in the swing. His head was tilted to the side and a small trail of drool spilled from his pink lips down his tiny chin. As quietly as possible, Draco loosened his bow and returned his cello to its case before transitioning Teddy from his swing to his crib and covering him with a thick blanket._ _ _ _

____“I love you, Teddy, and I’ll always do so unconditionally,” he whispered against Teddy’s temple. Leaving a kiss behind there, Draco picked up his cello case and retreated from the room, closing the door gently behind him._ _ _ _

____“I heard you singing,” Harry whispered, startling Draco so that he banged his hard case against the wall._ _ _ _

____“Warn someone when you’re about to cause them to break their very expensive christmas gift, you twat!” Harry only laughed quietly and came to wrap Draco in his arms, his nose pressing into the crook of Draco’s neck. “Oh, and I suppose you’ll think this means you’re forgiven, should I hug you back?”_ _ _ _

____“No, just trying to lessen the repercussions of my horrid behaviour,” Harry mumbled into Draco’s skin. “You have a really nice voice. Why didn’t you tell me you could sing?”_ _ _ _

____“I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I don’t sing,” Draco said, only half-defensively. “I need to put this away before you cause me to smash it properly.” Harry untangled himself from Draco and smirked, though he was trying very hard not to, if the twitching of the corners of his lips was any intimation._ _ _ _

____“I’ll just be in the bedroom, then. Thanks for putting Teddy to sleep with your not-singing.”_ _ _ _

____Draco watched Harry go down the hall, his embarrassment coming back to the forefront of his mind. Harry had heard him singing, and not only that, but he’d heard him singing a lullaby his mother had sung for him as a child. Not that he knew that, but it still felt like a very personal moment had been intruded upon. Sighing at himself for not casting some sort of silencing charm on the nursery, Draco put his cello away in the drawing room and then went to the loo to do his before bed routine._ _ _ _

____Teeth cleaned and pyjamas donned, Draco went to his and Harry’s room, fully expecting his bed mate to confront the lullaby situation yet again. He wasn’t wrong; the moment his head hit the pillow Harry wrapped his arms around him yet again and began stroking Draco’s collar bone through his T-shirt._ _ _ _

____“So… Where did you learn that song?” Harry asked, feigning poorly at his mild curiosity and coming off as just desperately curious._ _ _ _

____“My mother,” Draco replied shortly, though he did wrap his arms around Harry as well, just in case he got the idea that Draco was angry with him for asking. It wasn’t that he was angry, he just felt that it was a touchy subject and with the holidays not yet passed he was not-missing his mother more fiercely than he had all day._ _ _ _

____“Did she sing it to you, ever?”_ _ _ _

____“All the time, when I was younger. It was my favourite lullaby that she sang.” And that was all Draco really wanted to say on the matter, but Harry adjusted himself in their snuggle so that he was at eye level with Draco and he knew the interrogation wasn’t finished yet._ _ _ _

____“You’re missing her, aren’t you?” Draco looked up at the ceiling and began paying close attention to the new paint they’d put up and how it affected the atmosphere of their bedroom. “Draco.” But it looked as though they’d missed a spot painting, in one of the corners near the trim of the window closest to them. “Draco, it’s okay if you miss her. She’s your mum.” Not that it was all that noticeable, but Draco thought that he might touch it up tomorrow, since they had extra paint. “Draco arsing Malfoy.”_ _ _ _

____“That’s not my middle name, but I congratulate you on your originality.”_ _ _ _

____“I know your middle name, and I know you don’t like it, so I’m replacing it. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I need you to know that you _can _talk to me about it.” He paused as though he were waiting for a confessional from Draco, and when he got none he said, “If you want to.”___ _ _ _

______“What am I meant to say about it?” Draco finally burst out, louder than he’d intended. “What will it fix if I were to admit that I miss her? Nothing would change. It’s not like she’d come waltzing in, apologising for what she’s done and asking me to please be her son again. It’s fucking Christmas, Harry, of course I fucking miss her. She’s the person I’ve spent every single Christmas, and every other holiday, with since I was born. Yes, Molly has become more of a mother to me than I’d ever imagined she would be, but that doesn’t replace the fact that my own mother doesn’t want a thing to do with me, doesn’t even want me as her son anymore.” Draco was made to stop in the midst of his release of pent up thoughts as his throat constricted. He hadn’t quite realised just how strongly he still felt about his mother’s actions, but his words were proof and he was forced to admit that he wasn’t over what had happened, not in the slightest._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I would sincerely hope she wouldn’t come waltzing in here, since I’m in my pants and it would be a really awkward situation, her finding us in bed together,” Harry said, in a bad attempt at comic relief. Draco wanted to chuckle despite himself, but his throat was still tightly closed off from anything but the shallow breaths he was taking. “It’s okay to miss her, Draco. It’s alright to be upset over this whole thing. She pulled something petty and awful with disowning you and removing you from the vaults and inheritance. But she’s still your mum, and you’re still her son, so it’s only natural you’d feel this way._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Nobody expects you to just put this all behind you. If Molly disowned me over all this I’d feel pretty similarly to you... except I wouldn’t be out any money,” he added thoughtfully, then shook his head, his chin wobbling back and forth on the ridge of Draco’s shoulder. “But that’s beside the point. You’re allowed to feel any which way about about what happened. And I’m here to support you in whatever way you need me to.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Rolling over, Draco tugged Harry closer to him and mushed his face into Harry’s chest, just needing the comfort that their closeness gave him. He didn’t have many things left in this world, but when Harry squeezed Draco tightly, his fingers digging into the shirt fabric and muscles of Draco’s back, he felt as though it might not matter how much he had. He had Harry, he had the Weasleys, as strangely as that still felt, and he had Teddy. Really, he was fortunate, and he wished he could feel that way. His shoulders heaved as a fresh round of tears shocked his system. He hated that he couldn’t control himself better than this. There was no reason to feel so angst-ridden and maudlin over this; it wasn’t helping anything._ _ _ _ _ _

______“It’s okay,” Harry whispered as he stroked gently, grounding circles into Draco’s back. “I’m here.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Draco had the feeling that quite a lot of time passed as he snotted and cried all over Harry’s night shirt, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop mid way. It was as though he’d been harboring all of this emotion in his sinuses and tear ducts and because he’d denied their release, now he was forced to let it all out at once. On Harry’s shirt. Which, by the time he was able to breathe more normally and the snot had stopped running, he realised was probably ruined._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Sorry I fucked up your shirt,” Draco apologised as he grabbed his wand and used a light drying and cleansing charm combination on his face. He tried to use the same charm on Harry’s shirt, but it only resulted in his snot crusting in a large patch on Harry’s shoulder._ _ _ _ _ _

______“It’s alright,” Harry chuckled as he lifted said ruined shirt over his head and tossed it somewhere in the room. “Feel any better now?” There was a tentative quality to Harry’s question, as though he was afraid of setting Draco off again._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I actually feel a lot better now,” Draco admitted, surprising himself at the truth behind his statement. “I think I needed a good cry, as pathetic as that makes me feel.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“You poor, wretched human, experiencing emotions and what not,” Harry joked as he pressed a kiss to Draco’s temple._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I’m a disgrace, aren’t I?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Yes, but you’re my disgrace, so I’ll excuse your display of psychological rubbish. So long as it never happens again,” he added in jest. Or at least Draco was pretty sure he was joking, but he’d been interrupted by a yawn, so it was hard to tell._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Believe me, I’d like it to never happen again,” Draco said with a soft, self-degrading laugh. “Though, I can’t make any promises. Seems the mask my father instilled in me is slipping.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“It’s about damn time, then, isn’t it?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Draco didn’t have much of a response for that, but was glad that he and Harry could tease each other with their usual repartee again. He was still sorting through the slight shame of his emotional outburst, the fact that he felt the need to have one in the first place, and the lingering jumble of feelings regarding his mother. Harry didn’t force him to continue the conversation, much to Draco’s appreciation. All he wanted was sleep at that point, and as his eyelids grew heavier and his breathing levelled out, he thanked whatever kind deities watching for the reprieve from his brain’s machinations._ _ _ _ _ _


	26. Turn The Page

The months following Christmas were hectic, to say the least. The day after the Weasley Christmas gathering, Hermione and Ron had popped in to announce their engagement. As it turned out, Ron had proposed that night when he’d gone up to bed after Hermione. Molly and Arthur had secretly known all about it, apparently, because they had given Ron his great-grandmother’s wedding ring to propose with. Hermione was ecstatic, to say the least, as she showed off the glimmering opal and sterling silver ring to Harry and Draco, and even Teddy. 

“It needs to be cleaned and resized, still,” Ron had said sheepishly as his freckled complexion reached shades of red yet unseen by Harry. “But I’m glad it fits well enough that she can wear it for now. And that she said yes.”

“Oh, Ron,” Hermione sighed as she shook her curls at him. “What else would I have said to you? Try again next year?” Ron’s face deepened in colour as he averted his gaze, but Harry could tell this was just as important to him as it was to Hermione, though he showed it in a very different way.

“You’ll be my best man, right, Harry?” Ron asked, shooting embarrassed glances at Draco.

“Don’t worry, Weas— er, Ron, rather,” Draco said with false sharpness. “I wouldn’t want to be in your wedding even if you begged me, so no hard feelings,” which was really Draco’s way of saying ‘it’s alright, I won’t be upset that I’m not involved.’

“I’d be honoured, Ron!” Harry jumped up from the kitchen stool to hug Ron tightly. “When’s the wedding going to be?”

“Not for a while,” Hermione supplied. “I’ve still got school, of course, and Ron’s starting Auror training next week, so we’ll both be incredibly busy for a while. It’ll probably be a long engagement.”

“Mum’ll be happy about that. She was pretty miffed with Bill and Fleur about getting married so quickly after getting engaged.”

“Yeah, we talked about that last night,” Harry said with an awkward grin. He couldn’t help but get a bit flustered at any mention of Bill, though he couldn’t pinpoint why exactly that might be. Draco snorted from nearby and Harry’s brows shot down at the noise. He didn’t know what was funny, but apparently Draco did.

“Although I have my own suspicions that she just didn’t much like Fleur at the time,” Ron added, almost more to himself than to anyone else.

“She seems fond enough of her now, at least,” Hermione offered, to which Ron replied with a mere shrug.

“So yeah!” he said cheerfully. “Soon we’ll be Mrs. and Mr. Weasley!”

“No. Soon we’ll be Mrs. Granger-Weasley and Mr. Weasley,” Hermione corrected quickly. “I’m not giving up my last name and _before you start with me_ , there are enough Weasleys as it is, so be happy I’m even hyphenating it.” Ron had been about to cut in, but at her fierceness and logic he seemed to gather it was a moot point. Again Draco snorted, but this time Harry knew exactly what was funny and had difficulty not laughing himself.

The week Harry had gone back to work proved to be his best week of training so far; Kingsley had had his talk with Dawlish and he’d indeed gone with his decision to put him on unpaid suspension, as well as making him write a letter of apology to both Harry and Draco. Dawlish was being temporarily replaced by a stern witch named Devorah Roths. She was incredibly impressed with Harry’s ability to counter curses and dodge hexes in the training room, and Harry was content to let her believe that his abilities came naturally, rather than having them forced on him by Dawlish’s ridiculously difficult training techniques. It was actually nice, almost relaxing, having her train him instead. She used a fairness with all the other trainees and even did group training, rather than strictly one-on-one, so Harry was reintroduced to team efforts in battle. He was enabled to get to know his peers better and was beginning to form work friendships with several of them. Dean Thomas was one of those people, and though Harry had thought Dean was still upset at him for being in a relationship with Draco he realised quickly that Dean had no real qualms with it.

“I was more so concerned with your habit of staying at work too late,” he’d explained when Harry asked about the encounter in his cubicle. “And I guess I was sort of worried about you being under a spell or love potion, but that article didn’t really give me a reason not to think that. You’re alright, though, so I guess I shouldn’t have taken Skeeter so seriously.”

Harry was surprised to find out that Dean was also seeing a wizard, though he hadn’t been all too shocked to find out that it was Seamus Finnigan. They’d always been really close in school, so maybe it was just a matter of time before the two of them coupled up. It gave Harry a sense of comradery with Dean to know that they were both going against society’s wishes in regards to their love life, and the two were quickly becoming close friends. They’d even gone on a few double-dates with their partners, and though the two Gryffindors were slow to pick up on Draco’s wry sense of humour and posh mannerisms, they did eventually learn that Draco wasn’t being mean and didn’t think he was any better than them. It didn’t take long at all, after that, for the four men to cosy up to each other in a new friendship. It certainly made it easier for Harry to get the courage to go out in public, both alone and with Draco. The same was becoming true for Draco as well. Not long after their second double date Draco began going out with Teddy to do the shopping and to buy owl treats when Cosmos ran out, rather than having Kreacher run those errands. 

The _Prophet_ had had a gas writing about the first couple of double-dates, as well as spotting Draco out and about with Teddy, but after a while the news gave up its attempts to convince magical society that Dean and Seamus were being blackmailed into befriending him and Draco. After all, there was no evidence to suggest that there was any truth to the articles, so there wasn’t much to write about after a while. Draco had refused to comment when reporters asked if he’d kidnapped Teddy, but after going through the public hospital records and realising that it was his cousin he was toting around, they seemed to leave him be in that aspect as well. Harry noticed himself and Draco maturing as he realised that their responses to these articles were much more mild than they’d been before. Where once they would’ve gone into a rage at the audacity of the reporters for writing about them in the first place, now they had only to think about Teddy and the goings-on in their own lives seemed much more important than rubbish newspapers. The Colin-look-alike reporter gave Harry, specifically, a better outlook on reporters in general. He realised it was just their job to write about these things and it was something he shouldn’t take personally. He had always been an easy target for the papers, he supposed.

Not long after the Christmas holiday ended, Draco had decided to write to Lucius in Azkaban. Harry wasn’t sure it was a good idea— he wasn’t sure how much Draco’s father had heard about his and Draco’s relationship, or how he felt about it— but it wasn’t as if he could prevent Draco from reaching out to his family. Draco had simply sent a Christmas card to Lucius, wishing him a happy holiday. There’d been a little note at the bottom of the card that Draco had been hesitant to write in the first place, but decided he’d leave it. He’d written, ‘Father, I hope this holiday season finds you well. I apologise for being late with the card.’ Harry didn’t see why it was a big deal whether or not he’d written the seemingly harmless note, but he also didn’t know much about how the Malfoys interacted with each other. For all he knew, that could mean a dozen different things in Lucius’ mind. 

When Draco received a very long letter in reply from his father, Harry was not only concerned, but incredibly taken aback. At first Draco had not wanted Harry to read it, which worried Harry further, but only a few hours later he’d shoved the parchments into Harry’s lap and walked away to ‘go make tea.’

Harry looked down at the letter, unsure of whether he really wanted to read it or not, but he couldn’t resist the temptation or the curiosity. 

 

_Draco,_

_It’s been far too long since I’ve heard from you. What’s kept you from writing? It’s dreadfully boring here and hearing from you would certainly aid me in avoiding a death by ennui. The tedium that is prison life is one to be reckoned with._

 

Harry wondered if that was Lucius’ way of saying he missed his son, but continued reading before Draco came back and changed his mind about letting him read it at all. 

 

_I’ll have you know I’ve heard all about your new relationship with Mr. Potter. You and I both know that I’d warned you not to tell your mother of your sexual proclivities. And now look what’s happened. Though, the blame cannot truly be pinned on you, strictly speaking; however I was not impressed when your mother sent me the clipping of that terrible_ Prophet _article about your public display in a muggle mart. I thought I’d raised you with more self-awareness and control than this, Draco._

_On that same note, why in Salazar’s name have you chosen Harry Potter as your partner? Surely there are plenty of better wizards out there for the taking. He always was a pompous child. Don’t think I’ve forgotten all the trouble he gave you in school, either, the disrespectful brat. Severus hadn’t one good thing to say about that boy, and I’ve always trusted him to be a good judge of character. I wonder what Severus would think of this situation, were he alive to comment on it today._

_I digress… I feel the need to apologise to you, son, for the fact that I also signed those papers to remove you from our vaults, but I need you to understand that your mother threatened me with lengthening my sentence from two years to ten. I have a feeling that this will all blow over in time, however, so please do not worry. You’ll have your name back in our will and on the Gringotts accounts soon enough. I’ve been trying to reason with Cissy over all of this, but you know how your mother can be when she feels slighted. She may not be a Malfoy by name, but she certainly learned our ways over time. Maybe that’s not quite a good thing, though, now I think about it. She gets enough of it from her side, anyway._

_If you don’t feel inclined to write back I can’t promise I won’t be disappointed, but I’ll understand if you don’t. You’re still my son, for what it’s worth, and though I don’t approve of your choice in partners I will support you in your… coming out? Is that what the young people are calling it these days? Regardless of what it’s called, I support you in this. Whether you are attracted to witches or wizards, you are still my Draco, still the boy I’ve always known._

_Please consider finding a better life-mate,_

_Lucius_

 

“Why the hell does he hate me so much?” Harry asked the empty room. Just then, Draco came into the room carrying two cups of tea, setting one on the end table beside Harry.

“Because you were a pompous, disrespectful brat as a child and you caused me so much trouble in school, obviously. Can’t you even read, Potter? Or did that Polyjuice Potion you apparently took to spy on me in school never wear off properly, so you’re stuck with Goyle’s brain instead of your own? That might explain a few things, come to thing of it,” Draco said thoughtfully. “I always thought he might have a thing for me. Then again, who doesn’t?”

“Fuck off!” Harry laughed hard at Draco’s old pompous wit coming back to haunt him. It was something he missed from time to time, along with the use of his surname, which no matter how hard Draco tried to make sound rude only sounded slightly harsh with an affectionate undertone. “If anything it was you giving me trouble, _Malfoy._ ” It seemed Harry couldn’t very well keep Draco’s surname from sounding more fond than spiteful as well, and if Draco’s slightly pink cheeks had anything to say about it, he seemed to notice that too. 

“That’s a matter of perspective, Harry love. He’ll come around eventually, I think. At least, he’s much more likely to than my mother. He’s always been a bit softer than her in that sense, I think.” It was odd to Harry to think that anything about Lucius could be considered soft, but he supposed that nothing quite compared to Narcissa’s stubbornness, from all he’d heard of her from her son. Draco sat at the other end of the sofa and tucked his feet beneath him. He looked alright, but Harry wasn’t fooled. 

“How do you feel about this?” He pointed to the letter, which he promptly folded back up and set between them. Draco gave a small half frown before resuming his nonchalant expression.

“I’m glad he’s written to me,” he said simply. 

“Is that all?”

“No, but I’m ‘not inclined’ to discuss it right now.” He put finger air-quotes around Lucius’ previously used words and sipped his tea. 

Well, if he didn’t want to discuss it with Harry he didn’t have to, but Harry did hope he’d change his mind about it. Either way, he didn’t press the matter, even when he went to their room after putting Teddy to bed that night and discovered Draco at the writing desk with a quill in his hand and a full parchment before him. He badly wanted to look at what Draco had written the following morning as he got ready for work and saw the small stack of papers still sitting out from drying, but decided to respect Draco’s privacy and leave it be.

Not long after Draco and Lucius’ correspondence beginnings, some time in the middle of February, Draco and Harry received an official letter from the Ministry, along with many forms that were already half-filled out, regarding their guardianship over Teddy. They were being granted the right to dual guardianship over Teddy for the simple fact that there were laws in place already against two same-sex people marrying. Harry didn’t know whether to be thankful for them bending the other laws or outraged for bending those and not the ones having to do with marriage. Draco was incensed for other gay people, along with people of other orientations (Harry hadn’t known there were so many) since he himself had no desire to be married, but knew that others might. He’d ranted on and on about the unfairness of it all, that it shouldn’t matter whether or not the people in a marriage were male and female or otherwise. Harry listened through it all, feeling a thrum of compassion for his boyfriend and wishing there was something he could do about it.

Then a thought struck him, after Draco had calmed down and they’d finished filling out the guardianship papers to send out in the morning with Cosmos: he could do something about it. He was the Boy Who Lived, one of the more influential people in this country and quite a few other countries besides. If he began a campaign for equal rights… But that was ridiculous, wasn’t it? He wasn’t really much of a spokesman in general. He’d only recently found out that he was bisexual, so how could he speak for an entire group of people? It didn’t seem like he had the right to do so, having such little knowledge on the matter. He wasn’t even sure how many laws were in place, or what they said, about same-sex relationships. 

“But _you_ do, don’t you?” he asked Draco, who looked confused as he glanced up from the book he was reading. 

“I do what, now?” 

“You know about the laws restricting same-sex couples, right?” 

“Of course I do,” he replied with an air of haughtiness, as though it was a ridiculous question to ask. “I’ve known I was gay for a very long time, Harry, of course I would do research in order to protect myself from the law. Why do you ask?”

“It’s just that… you seem really passionate about the inequality going on right now…” He trailed off, not really knowing how to phrase what he was thinking. 

“Well spotted.” Draco gave Harry a strange look and closed the book in his lap to better focus. “What’s this about? I know there’s a point to this somewhere beneath all your incoherence.” 

“I was sort of thinking, you know, while you were going on about the fact that we— I mean, same-sex couples, not us because we’re not getting married, obviously— can’t get married and I was wishing I could do something about it. Then I thought I can, but I don’t think I’m the right person to speak for an entire group of people that I’m only half a part of.”

“Okay, first of all, you can’t be half a part of the community. Do you know what LGBT stands for?” 

“Er, no. I can’t say that I do,” Harry admitted, feeling self conscious about his lack of knowledge about all things relating to sexual orientation.

“It’s an initialism that started being used in the U.S in the late eighties. It stands for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender. You’ve identified yourself as bisexual, therefore you are a part of the community. Secondly,” he said, continuing on with his original train of thought, “there is no reason why you wouldn’t be the perfect person to speak for us. You’re Harry bloody Potter, alright? That carries a bit of weight, and you would be able to skew peoples’ opinions regarding us as far as our rights are concerned with an ease that no one else would have. Lastly, are you trying to say that you’re considering speaking out about gay rights?” 

“I… erm, I’m not really sure? I thought maybe you’d be a better person for it, since you know way more about this sort of stuff than I do. I’d be clueless if I were to speak publicly and I’d probably end up making things worse in the end.”

“Well, you’re certainly not making a very good case for yourself currently, I have to agree,” Draco said with a smirk. “I don’t think I’d be a very good candidate for spokesman, personally, because society hates me. They hate me for who I am, my sexuality, and who I’m with— namely you. So whose mind I’d be changing, I’m not sure. I’m probably not seen as the most all-respecting, all-inclusive inspirator at the moment,” he said as he brushed a hand over his left arm. Draco paused in his speech to ask, “What are your reasons for wanting to do this in the first place? What’s your motivation?”

“Partly because it makes you so unhappy, the way things are, but also because it doesn’t make much sense to me for the laws to stay the way they are now. I don’t see what harm it would do at all for people to marry the same sex.” Harry left out the part that he would, one day, like to get married because Draco didn’t want to and it would distract from the main point of the conversation. It wasn’t like they’d been together long enough to contemplate marriage seriously, anyway.

“So you’re beginning to understand that our laws are fucked up in regards to people like us, then,” Draco said as he nodded. “That’s good. That’s the first step to changing things. The next step would be for you to start working against the way things are, but it’s up to you whether or not you want to.”

“It’ll be really hard,” Harry admitted. “But… it would be worth it, wouldn’t it?”

“You need to visit a library. There are a lot of records of hate crimes against the LGBT community. It’s sickening, once you really delve into the way we’re treated through history, and even these days. I mean, it makes the way we’ve been treated look like we’re being celebrated by comparison.”

“Last time we went out with Dean and Seamus that old man threw a rock at us, though,” Harry pointed out, surprised that it could get worse than that. He really was in the dark, he supposed.

“And called us faggots, don’t forget that,” Draco said with a heated glare that Harry knew wasn’t directed at him. “I loathe that fucking word.”

“I thought a fag was a cigarette…” He felt bad for his ignorance on the subject, but he really didn’t know.

“It is, but that other word— you really need to visit a library. Do some research and see if you don’t feel more passionately about it then.”

“What does it mean? That word.” He didn’t want to say it again, seeing how vehemently Draco was displaying his hatred toward it.

“In the dictionary it is listed as a ‘bundle of sticks or twigs bound together as fuel,’” Draco quoted stiffly. “And when being used as a derogatory term we’re basically being told that we’re only worth kindling for a fire and nothing more.” Harry’s eyes widened at this information. He’d had no idea. 

“I… That’s so fucked,” was all he could think to say. The fact that a human being could be considered fire fuel simply for being homosexual made no sense to him and made him feel ill. 

“Yes, it is. And that’s the tip of the iceberg, if you can believe it. If you’re really wanting to invest your time in this it’ll benefit you to look further into these things.”

And so Harry had done research, in whatever spare time he’d had in the next several weeks. He’d discovered that laws against homosexuality went all the way back to 1533 in the UK, when the Buggery Act was passed by Henry VIII. While magical society was even more separate from muggle in those days, they took it upon themselves to follow suit, passing a similar law called the Act Against Homosexual Concupiscence. This law was changed in the late forties in magical society, when it was made illegal to be openly homosexual, but it didn’t make Harry feel any less sick reading over the accounts of people being hanged because they’d been found guilty of participating in an ‘unnatural sexual act against the will of God and man.’ Or, in magical-law terms, an ‘unnatural sexual act against civilization and humanity.’ The fact that it’d taken so fucking long for the law to change was terrifying as well. To think that just fifty years ago, had he been born in that time, he and Draco could’ve been hanged for their relationship… It was an eye-opening revelation.

Those were the earlier accounts of violence against LGBT people. It only got worse from there. Harry read that in the early 1900’s, it was common for gay men and women to be arrested and given long sentences in Azkaban (or muggle jail) or chemical/potion treatments for their sexualities. Insane asylums had been another common way to deal with gays and lesbians back then, both in magical and muggle worlds, and that was another horror story entirely. The most gut-wrenching case Harry read about having to do with chemical treatment was the chemical castration of **Benedict Dilexit. He was a wizard who had gone on to be an Arithmancy major, an Herbalist, and had helped during the first wizard war by creating safe houses in the forties and early fifties. In 1952 he was accused of ‘gross indecency’ and then convicted. His options for punishment were either prison time or probation, but he would only be granted probation if he agreed to brave hormonal treatment. This hormonal treatment, if its effects were accurate, was meant to lower his sex drive, from what Harry gathered. Apparently he thought that being fed experimental potions that were probably dangerous was safer than being put in prison. He wasn’t let off as easy as he’d hoped, however; Harry read on to find out that Dilexit had died in 1954. He was meant to have committed suicide, as far as the reports went, but there was also evidence that suggested he could’ve been accidentally poisoned. Harry wondered just how much of an accident it had been. He hoped it truly was an accident, and not someone taking their hatred out on him for his choice in lovers. The thought that it could’ve been just that made Harry want to cry in the public library, and he only just managed not to. 

In more recent times there were accounts of unsolved murders, all taking place in the time span of six months. Harry discovered that in 1989 and 1990 two men were murdered in their homes and one was found knocked out on the side of the road in west London, as well as an actor named Michael Boothe, who was also murdered in west London. 

The first man, Christopher Schliach, was stabbed over forty times in his own home. The second man, Henry Bright, was also stabbed to death in his home. The man who’d been found on the roadside and later died from head injuries was William Dalziel, the only wizard of the bunch. Being a wizard didn’t make it any more or less devastating or wrong, but it hit home that this could’ve been Draco, or Dean, or Seamus, or the countless other wizards who had been open about their sexualities. On and on the list continued, more names popping up the further he read. Magical society in particular seemed to have it out for “the gays,” as uncle Vernon had donned them. Corbin Steffel, Henrietta Burmingham and her lover Daisy Delilah, Marcus Flemming, Aruva Kennt, Danderstaff Wyburger, Wiley Schodger, Romona Humble, Olive Oakley, Maudlin Gravibus, and hundreds more made up the magical people who had lost their lives in cruel acts of hatred. 

It was some comfort to read, after learning these things, that in July of 1990 there was a march consisting of hundreds of gays and lesbians. Their march began in the park where the actor had been killed and went all the way to Ealing town hall. Once there, they held a candlelight vigil for the late Michael Boothe. It made Harry somewhat confused as to why these people only marched for the actor and not the others; didn’t they mean as much as he did? Weren’t their lives worth just as much as his? Wasn’t their plight as gay men and women just as heartbreaking? Harry felt that every single one of these men and women should’ve been honoured with a vigil.

As he thought this, he realised that he did need to do something about the way things were. No, it was no longer illegal to be gay or otherwise, but there were still laws protecting those who acted violently against people who weren’t heterosexual. There were still laws prohibiting the marriage between two gay men, two lesbians, and transgendered people in general. It was dehumanizing, Harry thought, and he couldn’t stand by with his political sway and stay silent about these things. 

When he went home from the library the evening he’d decided to start his campaign, or at least discuss with Draco how to go about it, he found his boyfriend at the kitchen table feeding Teddy. There was a folded up letter by his elbow with the Gringotts seal popped open on the front. 

Forgetting about what he’d just decided— there was only one reason Gringotts would contact Draco that Harry could think of, and he genuinely hoped it was true— Harry asked, “What’s that for?”

“What’s what for?” Draco asked distractedly as he continued scooping up food and bringing it toward Teddy with aeroplane sounds accompanying his movements. 

“The letter. It’s from Gringotts, right?” 

“Oh, that,” Draco said as he set the baby spoon down in the jar of pureed pumpkins. “It’s my mother’s apology, I think. I don’t know what’s happened, but I’ve been written back in to the vault accounts and the will.”

“What?” Harry exclaimed, crossing the room quickly to grab Draco by the shoulders. “Are you taking the piss, or…?” 

“No, I’m serious. Take a look, if you don’t believe me.” Draco’s voice was level, but his upturned lips and the glee in his eyes gave him away immediately. Harry tugged him off his stool and into his arms as he went on and on about how great it was that this had happened. “Don’t get your ratty old knickers in a twist just yet,” Draco interrupted as he removed himself from Harry’s grasp.

“Why not? Draco, this is amazing! And my pants aren’t ratty or old,” he said in mild defence. Sure, a couple of the pairs had holes in them and the elastic was worn in all of them, but they weren’t… Alright, maybe they were ratty and old.

“Maybe it is. I’m not sure about it, yet. For all we know my mother could be planning something to follow this up with, after all. She’s not exactly the person I trust most these days, and she hasn’t sent a letter explaining her decision, so as of right now I’m refraining from getting my hopes up.”

Just then an owl came barreling out of the fireplace, just barely missing the fire in the grate with its wings. Cosmos, Harry realised, held a stiff piece of parchment in its beak and, though there was no writing on the face or back of the letter, Harry was convinced that it was from Narcissa. 

“Why don’t I take Teddy for a while,” Harry offered, and didn’t wait for Draco’s reply before retrieving the restless bundle of energy that was Teddy from his high chair. He had a feeling Draco would need to be alone with that letter for a while, and he had habit of bottling his emotions when Harry was around and the feelings were still fresh. Better to let him process these things alone for now.

 

<>

 

The months following Christmas were hectic, to say the least, for Narcissa. She’d spent the holiday alone, without her husband or son, or anyone else for that matter. The house elves had attempted to engage her in conversation, but she didn’t feel it was a decent substitute for her child or spouse and had waved off their questions and comments. That wasn’t what was causing her strife, however. What was truly bothering her was the fact that she still hadn’t come to any decision concerning Draco or Potter. She’d spent weeks trying to formulate some plan, but still had no clue what she was going to do regarding their relationship and was absolutely confused as to whether or not she should do anything at all.

Narcissa wanted to keep her son safe, but more than that she wanted him to be happy. There were no lingering doubts in her mind that Draco was happy with Potter. The Ministry Christmas party had seen to expelling whatever thoughts she’d had about this relationship being a strike against his upbringing in one fell swoop. Perhaps that’s what it had been in the beginning— she had no real way of knowing, since they hadn’t spoken about it until she’d found out, and that was only to threaten him— but it was more than that now. She hadn’t risked her own life in order to find out if Draco was still alive so that she could ruin the life she was so worried about. And yet… isn’t that precisely what she’d tried to do? If she were to kill Potter at this rate she would only be ensuring that Draco’s happiness be avoided for, quite possibly, forever. 

Plain and simply, though, magical Britain was no place for a gay couple, which worried her to no end. Draco was already hated by most of the people that made up magical Britain, and his coming out so publicly was dangerous, especially being tied to a name as well-known as Potter’s. Should Draco wind up dead at the hands of some homophobic idiot, Narcissa would be left with no son at all. 

“Not that I’ve done a good job making sure he knows he’s my son,” she muttered to her morning porridge. 

A huge pang of guilt swept through Narcissa as she realised that she could’ve been one of those ‘homophobic idiots’ had she gone through with her plan to murder Harry. At first she’d tried to defend herself, but when she thought of all the reasons she had for killing him she could come up with nothing that didn’t point to herself as being hateful, petty, and cruel. 

“What have I become?” she gasped quietly. “What was I thinking?” 

Panic flooded Narcissa’s system as she shoved the bowl of porridge away from her. This wasn’t what she’d wanted for Draco. None of it. She hadn’t wanted for him to be gay, she hadn’t wanted for him to fall in love with Potter, but she most certainly hadn’t wanted him to be isolated from his family and made an even bigger target for the media thanks to her actions. 

As Narcissa swiftly Apparated to Gringotts the only thought running through her mind on repeat was, _This was a mistake, this was a mistake._ Over and over she told herself what a huge blunder she’d made as she signed the necessary papers to put Draco back on the vault accounts and will. The change would take twenty four hours to be approved, but she’d at least begun to try and turn this mess around. She legitimately felt as though she’d lost the plot as she remembered the things that had gone through her head prior to her decision to kill Potter. _He saved us all, and yet I would kill him over this?_ she asked herself, feeling utterly miserable. _He saved_ Draco, _and yet I would kill him over wanting to be his partner?_

She had never felt so disgusted with herself, apart from the many times she’d had to kiss the Dark Lord’s hand or the hem of his robes to show her… solidarity… Still, she couldn’t believe she’d stooped so very low. When she got home from the bank she sat down in her parlour at her writing desk and began writing a letter of apology. She wasn’t sure whether or not he would accept it, and after all she’d done to him she couldn’t very well blame him, but she had to try. It would keep her from sleep, or peace of mind, if she didn’t at least try. And so she had offered to meet him at a park nearby where Potter’s house was rumoured to be. Every day she would plan to wait for him until he showed up, and if he never did… well, at least she could say that she’d made an attempt to salvage her relationship with her son. 

 

<>

 

It was as though a tornado had gone off in Draco’s head. First the Weasley Christmas, where he was treated more like family by practical strangers than he’d ever been treated previously, then the guardianship papers for Teddy from the Ministry, then his father’s letter, the letter from Gringotts, and finally a letter from his mother. It was too much to process all at once, and he was grateful beyond words when Harry took Teddy upstairs to give him time. At first he hadn’t even wanted to open the letter from his mother; what would be the point? She probably had done this as a way of hanging yet another proverbial sword over his head. He’d put money on her listing more threats and insults in the letter, if he had any money to bet on it… But he did, actually. It would take some getting used to, the fact that he now had access to the Malfoy vaults once more. He’d grown used to having no money, oddly enough. It hadn’t been very hard with Harry paying his way at every corner. 

As he sat at the kitchen table pondering over the letter and whether or not he should open it, he recalled his father’s words from the last letter he’d written. Lucius had explained that Narcissa had sounded incredibly guilty in the most recent letter he’d gotten from her, and he’d had a feeling that sooner rather than later Draco would hear from her. He hadn’t gone into much detail about the letter she’d sent him, but that was incentive enough for Draco to rip off the Malfoy seal and open the stiff parchment.

What he found inside only added to the shock that the recent months had brought.

 

_Dearest Draco,_

_Let me begin by telling you how terribly sorry I am for what I’ve done. The way I’ve treated you is no way for a mother to treat her son. And you are my son, no matter the message I’ve sent to suggest otherwise. I love you, and I cannot believe the way I’ve acted toward you. Some mother I am indeed._

_My apology extends to your Potter as well, though I’m unsure whether or not it’s wanted. Regardless, I feel I must atone for the awful behaviour I’ve exhibited in regards to both of you. If he is the key to your happiness in life I would be remiss to stand in the way. That’s all I want for you: happiness. The fact that I’ve taken such petty measures to prevent it makes me feel disgusted with myself. I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me, Draco, because I truly am sorry._

_There’s a park nearby Potter’s home. The weather is warming up, and I thought that it might be neutral ground enough for the both of us to feel comfortable. I’d like to see you and offer my apology in person. I will not beg you, but… I miss you._

_-N.M._

 

By the end of the letter, Draco noticed that the words were beginning to blur and there were several damp splatters on the parchment. Reaching up to touch his face he realised that he was crying. He hadn’t even noticed, it’d come on so slowly as he read. There was a strange numbness spreading through his limbs as the meaning of the words on the paper sank into his brain. She was sorry. His mother was sorry, and she wanted to see him. She was sorry.

For longer than he knew, Draco sat at the table and re-read the contents of his mother’s apology, not quite able to believe that it was real. By the time Harry came downstairs and began making their nightly cup of tea he had managed to gather himself emotionally, but he still wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel in general. 

“Are you alright?” Harry asked softly as he set the chamomile tea before him. The aromatic steam did wonders to bring Draco back to earth as it met his nostrils and he inhaled the scent deeply. 

“I… don’t know. Yes? I’m… confused.” Great, and now he was beginning to sound like Harry: flustered and stumbling over his words and thoughts.

“What did she have to say? Do you want to talk about it?” Draco felt his mouth tilt down in a contemplative frown. He hadn’t really been opening up with Harry much lately, about his father’s letters either, and part of him felt obligated to do so. Although, another part of him wanted to keep everything bottled up until he could figure out what to think and feel about it. So much had been happening recently and he wasn’t sure at all what was going on in his head. “If you don’t, that’s okay,” Harry continued after Draco’s lengthy silence. 

“No, I do,” he said hesitantly. “Well, not really, but I should, shouldn’t I?”

“It’s up to you, but I’ll listen if you want to talk.” Harry sipped his tea, frowned, then got up to grab some honey from one of the cabinets. It was a habitual thing with him; he’d make his tea, sip it, and decide it wasn’t sweet enough. Why he didn’t just put the proper amount of honey in at the start made little sense to Draco, but he never commented on it. In a way it brought a sense of domesticity to his life. He could list Harry’s entire nightly routine by heart, should someone ask him. “So, is that a yes, or a no?” Harry asked, bringing Draco back to the present.

“She apologised,” Draco began, deciding it would do no good to keep Harry in the dark about it. After all, she’d apologised to him too. “To both of us.” He continued explaining the contents of the letter, not really wanting Harry to read it himself, though he couldn’t say why. 

“Are you going to meet her?” Harry asked slowly staring down into the contents of his cup. 

“Is that what I should do?” 

“Alright, this is getting weird,” Harry said as he set his mug of tea down on the table and turned to look at Draco in concern. “I’m not the one who can make these decisions, Draco. You’re always so sure of yourself, so confident. You always know what you want and don’t want. What’s making it so that you aren’t those things anymore?” Draco was taken aback by Harry’s confrontational tone and his blunt remarks. Was he being that way? He supposed he was. It didn’t make Harry’s words sting any less, though, even though Draco was pretty sure they weren’t intended to be harsh.

“Well, you try going through all this shit and tell me how normal and confident you feel!” Harry sighed as Draco finished his retort.

“I’m not trying to be mean. Just… I’m going through these things with you, okay? When your mother wrote you out of the family inheritance I was right there with you. You didn’t turn into a wishy-washy… _weirdo_ back then. You still tried to get on with daily life. This is a good thing, Draco. Maybe now you can have some sort of relationship with your mum again. You’ve got your vaults back, so you’re not forced to rely on me for money things. This is something we should be celebrating. Ever since you got that first letter from your father you’ve been acting strangely. What’s he been saying to you?”

“He hasn’t been saying anything, really, just that he misses me and he wants to know what’s been going on in my life. I think he’s living vicariously through me.” Draco thought for a moment on his demeanor since he and his father had started talking and was struck by a realisation. “I think I know what it is.”

“What what is?”

“He’s in prison, Harry,” he said, as though it were obvious, which it suddenly was.

“Alright… I know.” It was difficult to prevent the scoff aimed at Harry’s obliviousness regardless of how poorly he was explaining himself. 

“I mean he’s in prison and it’s making me depressed hearing about his daily life. He never has a positive attitude when he writes and he sounds so miserable. I think he’s rubbing off on me.” That had to be it. Draco couldn’t think of another reason behind his sullen attitude lately. 

“Maybe you should stop writing to him as often,” Harry suggested delicately. “It seems like it’s really getting to you.”

“You’re probably right,” he admitted with a heavy sigh. It wouldn’t make his father happy for him to stop writing as frequently; he was his only means to the outside world, aside from Narcissa. She wasn’t someone who typically went out and about much, if she was still the person Draco used to know, so she couldn’t have much to offer besides gossip, and gossip tended to get old.

“So are you going to meet up with your mum?”

“I…”

“Draco. Really? You’ve been missing her like crazy lately and you’ve got a chance to see her again. If she’s sorry and she wants to talk to you about what she’s done and make up for it, it would be daft of you to pass this chance up.”

“You don’t know her like I do.” Though Draco knew he was being childish, he couldn’t prevent himself from defending his ‘wishy-washiness.’

“Nope, you’re right, I don’t. But I know you, and I know you miss her. What are you afraid of?”

“What if she just tries to talk me out of seeing you again?”

“Does it sound like she’s going to?”

“No, but—”

“And if she did, what would you do?”

“I would tell her it’s not going to happen and I’d leave.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“Then… I guess we’d just talk about things.”

“There you have it,” Harry said, clapping his hands together with finality and setting his palms down on either side of his mug. “Do you want to talk with her about things?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then you should. If you’re nervous that she might try to pull something I can always go with you. I’m an Auror, remember? She’d be stupid to try anything with me there.”

“She’s not stupid,” Draco said defensively, unable to kill his habit of protecting his mother at every turn. Even when she’d disowned him in the first place he hadn’t wanted to hear people talk badly of her. It made Draco wonder if he was being respectful, or acting as a footpath turned human. 

“I’m sure she’s not. It’s been scientifically proven that children get their intelligence from their mothers, and you’re incredibly smart.”

“Is that true?” 

“Maybe, I don’t know. It sounded good, though, didn’t it? I think Molly said it a couple times. Anyway, I think this’ll be a good thing. You need to talk to her. If you don’t, you’ll regret it. I know you will because, again, I know you.”

“Alright. I’ll do it,” Draco said on a sigh. Of course Harry was right and he knew he’d just been prolonging the inevitable by debating whether or not he’d go in the first place. This was what he’d been longing for since his mother first wrote to him about repercussions and threats. He’d longed for this chance to talk to her and explain himself, to hear why she’d made such a snap decision like this. Maybe now he’d get that chance. 

That night Draco wrote out a reply to his mother letting her know simply that he would be at the park on the next Tuesday. He and Harry decided that they’d use it as an excuse to get Teddy outside, too, since he’d been cooped up all winter. It wasn’t nearly as cold as it had been in recent months and Harry could cast a mean warming charm if need be. When Draco had pointed out, however, that it might put Teddy at risk, should his mother try anything, Harry simply rolled his eyes. Draco knew he was being a coward, but he couldn’t help but be wary of his mother’s intentions. The letter felt genuine, but Narcissa was cunning. 

Harry had pointed out that Narcissa hadn’t gone through with her threats from her previous letter, so he wasn’t worried at all that she was using this as a way to get them in a vulnerable position. If she did, she would hardly get away with it, Harry had also pointed out. By the time Draco went to bed that night he was a lot less scared, but just as nervous. Tuesday was the day after next, not very long at all. He wondered, as he drifted off, whether or not he would get his mother back. He wondered if she would finally accept him, as he’d hoped for so long she would. That night all dreams of long, endless corridors ceased. No ghostly women with long white hair standing at the end whispering cruel nothings in his ears. In fact, Draco was sure he hadn’t dreamed at all, and he got probably the best night’s sleep he’d had in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** This wizard is based off of a real person named Alan Turing. Turing “was an English computer scientist, mathematician, logician, cryptanalyst, philosopher, and theoretical biologist. Turing was highly influential in the development of theoretical computer science, providing a formalisation of the concepts of algorithm and computation with the Turing machine, which can be considered a model of a general purpose computer. Turing is widely considered to be the father of theoretical computer science and artificial intelligence.”
> 
> “During the Second World War, Turing worked for the Government Code and Cypher School (GC&CS) at Bletchley Park, Britain's codebreaking centre that produced Ultra intelligence… Turing played a pivotal role in cracking intercepted coded messages that enabled the Allies to defeat the Nazis in many crucial engagements, including the Battle of the Atlantic, and in so doing helped win the war.” 
> 
> These quotes come from Wikipedia. Alan Turing died sixteen days before his 42nd birthday, only two years after he was arrested and convicted of homosexual acts. He was a real person, he was a man who underwent chemical castration because of the fact that he was gay. He was one of many who dealt with something like this, though his story is more well-known due to the accomplishments attached to his name.
> 
> We honour his memory in this chapter, though his name and the details have been changed. No disrespect is meant by this whatsoever. His name was changed to Benedict Dilexit for a specific reason. In Latin, bene didicit means well learned and dilexit means loved. It simultaneously pays tribute to him as a person and JK Rowling for her use of Latin in the books and the fact that many of her character names had dual meanings. 
> 
> Michael Boothe, Henry Bright, Christopher Schliach, and William Dalziel were all real people as well and we honour their memories in this chapter, along with many other people in the LGBTQ+ community, who have lost their lives due to something they couldn’t help, and which others couldn’t understand. Hate crimes against the LGBTQ+ community still happen to this day. It’s still a problem which needs to be addressed. 
> 
> LGBTQ+ rights are something people are fighting for even today, and it’s something that should be taken seriously, as we have a long way to go before true equality will be met. We hope that this chapter wasn’t too heavy for you readers, but the fact of the matter is that this is a weighty topic of conversation. Even still, it’s a conversation that must be had.  
> Some readers may have noticed the change in the wording of the ‘muggle’ Buggery Act when added to wizarding law as the Act Against Homosexual Concupiscence. The purpose of this is not to remove religion from the original law. It was merely changed because it is unclear as to whether wizards follow the same religions as muggles, despite the two biblical references in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (it could always be that Dumbledore was just well-read, perhaps from a muggle studies course). Our assumption, at least, is that magical government was not ruled by the church in the same way muggle government was at the time. Therefore, we decided to make the law more neutral and take the term ‘God’ out of the mix. Our apologies if this offends any of our readers.


	27. Swallowed Pride

The dreaded day had finally come, Harry realised as he walked into the Auror Department on Monday morning. The alert was printed on bright yellow paper and hung up in the staff lounge, which was where Harry and his peers came every morning for a quick cup of tea before training, and was very hard to miss. Poisons and Antidotes training was starting that day, and Harry couldn’t have been caught more off guard. He’d never been good at Potions, and from what he’d learned from Tonks about her time in Auror training, he would be doing quite a lot of brewing. The only thing that helped him to feel less dismal about the next six months was that he wouldn’t have to deal with Snape being his trainer. Then again, if dealing with Snape as his trainer could somehow bring the fallen hero-in-disguise back from the dead, Harry thought he’d be glad to deal with him. Or tolerate him, at least.

Sighing, Harry filled a paper cup with tea from the large carafe near the ice box and added a bit of sugar. Taking a sip, he sighed yet again and took up the sugar once more to add a bit extra. He could never make it sweet enough on the first try, no matter how hard he tried. The tea helped ease the guilt he’d dredged up with thoughts of Snape, but it didn’t help him cheer up about training. As much as Harry wanted to be an Auror, sometimes it seemed life disagreed with his aspirations. 

“Morning, Harry,” Dean said as he came strolling happily into the staff lounge. He took a paper cup from the nearby stack and began fixing his tea. “Long night? You don’t look too pleased this morning.”

“Did you see the notice?” Harry asked dryly. Dean frowned and crossed the room to read the yellow paper.

“Huh. What’s so bad about that? I’m about sick to death of Stealth training. It’s time for a change, I think,” Dean said with his quirky grin. 

“I guess I’m just not excited about spending six months in front of a cauldron,” Harry confessed. 

“You won’t be. It’s _Poisons_ and Antidotes, so we’ll have to be able to identify poisons and their antidotes,” Dean said, as if it should’ve been obvious. “So, along with standing in front of a cauldron you’ll be using that sniffer of yours to figure out what antidote we’ll brew.”

“How is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“It’s not,” he replied honestly, smiling again. “Just correcting you is all.” Dean took on a more serious expression for a moment and touched Harry’s shoulder. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, Harry. Nobody’s going to try and poison you in class.” Harry rolled his eyes and shrugged Dean’s hand off. 

“I’m not afraid of being poisoned, I’m afraid of brewing without Hermione leaning over my shoulder whispering the next steps in my ear so I don’t blow everything up.” Harry paused when he realised the hidden meaning in his words that had Dean smirking like a madman again. “Oh, come on, that’s not what I meant.”

“I had you pegged for a guy who prefered Draco whispering in your ear so that you could blow everything up,” Dean teased. “Or at least, blow your load.”

“Can we please not talk about my load? Or blowing it? Or blowing in general? Or… Can we just change the subject?” Harry’s face had turned a horrible shade of red and he didn’t want to keep looking that way as the other trainees filed into work. 

“Sure thing, Harry,” Dean said with a suppressed grin. 

As it turned out, he wasn’t very bad at brewing when he didn’t have a grumpy, bat-like bugger breathing down his neck and insulting his every stirring rod motion and slicing technique. His trainer for this portion of the course was Elena Phoul, but she requested that the trainees call her Elena, and Harry couldn’t blame her for it. She was incredibly pleasant and had a strangely Hermione-like attitude towards brewing. That is, if Hermione had more patience. Her demeanor was at odds with her surname, however, and he felt she should’ve been Elena Nicely, or something more to that tune. It was comforting to Harry to have a trainer who was so like one of his best friends, and it helped him get through his first day with not much struggle at all. Rather than being belittled for his lack of finesse with a blade or stirring rod, Harry was corrected and advised. This turned out to be a much more efficient teaching method, in Harry’s opinion. 

By the end of his first day of Poisons and Antidotes, Harry had a new understanding of brewing. All in all, it wasn’t very different from cooking. Not that he was very good at that, either, but if he thought back to the days where he had tried to please the Dursleys by cooking their meals properly— the days when he had a favour to ask— he found he was more focussed on the task of brewing. 

When he got home he realised he hadn’t yet mentioned his new knowledge of LGBT hardships to Draco, or discussed his plan to take magical Britain by the throat and demand change. Teddy was in his highchair when Harry stepped out of the Floo, and Draco was feeding him, as was typical of them when he arrived home. 

“How was work?” Draco asked as he used the miniature, rubber spoon to clean a dribble of squash from Teddy’s chin. 

“Actually, it was really good.” Harry sat down next to Draco at the table and took his boots off, sighing as his feet were finally able to stretch out on the cool stone floor. “My feet hurt from standing in one place most of the day, but other than that I have no complaints.”

“You stood in one place? How’d you manage to dodge anything that way?” 

“Oh, we’re done with that part of training, finally. Never thought I’d be glad to start this segment, but we’re on to Poisons and Antidotes. We’ll be getting our final assessments for Stealth next week.”

“Hopefully Dawlish’ biases don’t cause you to have to redo that portion,” Draco grumbled. Harry hadn’t even thought of that, but at this point he couldn’t really care. If Kingsley had anything to say about it, Harry would pass his Stealth training, regardless of what Dawlish had to say. 

“Can I ask you about something?” Harry was determined to get this out of the way. He felt he’d wasted a lot of time already, having waited this long to talk to Draco about his plans.

“If I said no, would it actually prevent you from asking?” Draco drawled with a smirk.

“Dah!” Teddy yelled. Apparently Draco had taken too long giving him his next spoonful, because he then proceeded to slam his fists on the plastic tray repeatedly.

“My apologies, Teddy,” Draco said sarcastically. “I didn’t realise I’d starved you so. What do you want to ask, Harry?”

“I want your advice on how I should go about starting to change the laws,” Harry explained. “After the research I’ve done, I can’t stand by and let things go as they are.”

“Ah, I see.” Draco pursed his lips and continued to feed Teddy for a moment before replying. “I’d say that a public speech would do well to start you off. Chances are, if you announce that you’re making a speech the people with hoard to you like maggots on a carcass.” Harry grimaced at the mental image that went along with Draco’s metaphor, but had to admit it was an accurate one.

“That’s disgusting.”

“Am I wrong?”

“Well… no, but still.” Harry shuddered as he shook the thought out of his head that he was the carcass. “A public speech, then? Who would I talk to about setting one up?”

“Hermione would be a good person to ask about that. You remember STINK, don’t you? That house elf thing she was always whinging about in school.”

“Er… do you mean SPEW?” Harry chuckled. “And yes, I do. Do you think she’d really know what to do?”

“Does she ever _not_ know what to do?” he snarked. “I’m sure that if she doesn’t know, she won’t be afraid to find out. That woman has more motivation than anyone I’ve ever met.”

Harry had to agree with that. Not wanting to wait any longer, Harry tossed some Floo powder into the hearth and connected himself to the Burrow. If luck was on his side, Hermione would still be there for another day or so. 

“Harry,” Molly smiled pleasantly. “What can I do for you, dear?”

“Erm, well I was wondering if I could talk to Hermione. She’s still there, isn’t she?”

“Yes, she is. I’ll just go and get her. Oh, aren’t you just so happy for them?” Harry didn’t need to ask to know she was referring to Hermione and Ron’s engagement. “It’s been a long time coming, if you ask me. I only wish they’d waited to get engaged until she’s done with school. Ah, well,” she said, not letting Harry get a word in edgewise. “Such is the way of young lovers, isn’t it?” Her head disappeared from the flames before Harry could respond, and was replaced shortly by Hermione’s.

“Harry, is everything alright?” she asked softly. 

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Well, I’m fine, that is. Not everything is fine. Far from fine, actually.” Hermione’s face became rather confused looking as he rambled on.

“What’s going on?”

“Are you familiar with the laws restricting gay, lesbian, and transgendered people?” Harry asked tentatively, unsure now if he should be asking her about this. 

“Not all of them, but I’m aware of the fact that they’re not allowed to marry. Have you and Draco changed your minds after all?”

“No! No, not…” He’d been about to say ‘yet,’ but he didn’t know that Draco would ever change his mind on the matter. “No. I’ve been doing research on hate crimes and laws in the LGBT community. Mostly the magical community, and well… I want to change the laws. Or, I’d like to try, at least. Draco suggested I do a public speech to start off, but I’m not sure how to go about it. He said I should ask you.”

“Draco suggested you talk to me?” She sounded flattered, and yet still confused. “Why me?”

“Because you’ve got more motivation than anyone he’s ever met, says he.”

“He said that? About me?” Hermione slowly began to smile widely. “Well I’ll be damned. I never thought I’d see the day when he had a complimentary thing to say about me.”

“I can hear you, you know,” Draco muttered from the kitchen table, too quiet for Hermione to catch. 

“He can hear you, you know,” Harry repeated. Hermione’s cheeks became a deeper shade of green in the flames. 

“Alright, down to business, then, hmm?” She took on a contemplative expression before a lightbulb seemed to go off in her head. “A public speech. In Diagon Alley, or Hogsmeade? Which would you feel more comfortable with?”

“Er… probably Hogsmeade, just because there’s more room for everyone to crowd in,” he said after a brief pause for consideration. 

“Alright, then I think it would be best to notify the public by way of interview. That way you can get everyone informed of the event in one go. Oh, and you should talk to one of the shop keeps. Ask if they’re alright with you using their storefront as a ‘venue,’ and tell them it’ll give them more publicity due to the photographs. You know how everyone loves to shop at places you’ve been to. I’ll talk to George and see if he and Ron can’t work together and build a stage of some sort. And don’t worry about bodyguard personnel, I’ve got a few people who owe me favours…” 

Hermione went on and on with her scheming and planning, giving Harry order after order, even going so far as to tell him what he should and shouldn’t wear to the speech. It was a no brainer to him not to have the interview with Skeeter, but Hermione made a firm point of telling him exactly why that was a horrible idea. He already knew who he wanted to give the interview to anyway: Cole Camberwell. He’d done an excellent job with the interview outside of the Ministry Christmas party, and the following news report had certainly helped his career get the jump start he’d wanted for it. Harry couldn’t think of someone he’d want to do it more than him. 

“Alright,” Hermione said with a satisfied slant of her mouth. “Let me know when you’ve got the interview out of the way and in the meantime I’ll start putting together a bullet point list of topics you’ll have to cover during the speech itself. When are you thinking of doing the speech?”

“At the weekend, probably a couple weeks from now. I can’t take off work for something like this, sadly, or I’d do it during the week.”

“That’s sensible of you, Harry. You can Floo McGonagall’s office after class hours if you need to chat with me again between now and then. I’m there constantly as it is.”

“You and McGonagall are getting chummy then?” Harry asked out of curiosity.

“Inevitably, yes. At the start of term I asked if I could shadow her job as Headmistress. Madame Maxime wrote to me at the start of term asking if I’d be interested in taking the position as Deputy Headmistress at Beauxbatons when she retires next year, so I’m trying to familiarise myself with all that will entail.” Hermione sounded equal parts nervous and excited about this prospect and Harry couldn’t help be happy for her as well.`

“That’s going to be interesting. Is Ron thinking of transferring to the French Aurors division then?” 

“Oh… We haven’t actually talked about what it’ll mean for us if I’m in France while he’s in Auror training. There’s a lot to discuss,” she said evasively. 

“Well I wish you luck in that, then. You two aren’t, er, having troubles, are you?” 

“Heavens, no. You’d be the first to hear of it, I’m sure, if that were the case. No, we just have a lot to figure out at this point. Everything’s fine though.” If Hermione said everything was fine then it probably was and Harry trusted her judgement.

They said their goodbyes and Harry immediately went upstairs to write to Cole, leaving Draco and Teddy with forehead kisses on his way. Cole’s reply came before Harry went to bed that night and his anticipation and gratefulness was tangible in the way he responded with exclamation points. Harry grinned as he sent a reply with the date he had in mind for the interview and woke up the next morning to another letter with Colin’s approval. The following weekend Harry would have his interview to inform the public of his impending speech. 

“I just put Teddy down,” Draco said as he entered the bedroom that night in just his boxers. He came to stand behind Harry at his writing desk as he wrote his letter to Cole and leaned over his shoulder to read. His minty breath tickled Harry’s cheek, causing the hairs to raise there. 

“Yeah? Thanks, I’d have helped, but…” He trailed off as he finished writing his last sentence, signed the letter, and set it aside to dry. Turning around in his chair he was met with the nearly eye-level bulge in Draco’s pants. “Oh! I see,” Harry laughed. 

“It’s been a while,” Draco said, drawing Harry’s eyes up to his face rather than his already hardening cock, “And I thought maybe a good shag would help me get over my nerves about tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Harry asked. He was distracted by the casual way Draco was asking to fuck him and couldn’t for the life of him recall what was meant to happen tomorrow.

“Merlin, Harry, are you suffering memory loss? My meeting in the park.” Harry stared blankly. “My mother? It’s Tuesday tomorrow, Harry, remember?”

“Right! Your mother. I completely forgot, sorry.” He felt his cheeks heating. How could he have forgotten something so important? “I’m an arse, aren’t I?”

“Absolutely, now why don’t you make it up to me?” Draco pulled Harry out of his chair almost forcefully and directed him toward the bed. 

“Those nerves must really be getting to you, you brute,” Harry joked as he pulled his clothes off as quickly as he could. “What would your mother think of you pushing me around like that?”

“Can we please not continue mentioning her? I’m losing my hard-on,” Draco half-snapped, half-laughed. 

Once his shirt was over his head, Harry was presented with the most lovely picture of Draco sprawled naked on their bed, already stroking himself as he waited for Harry to join him. For a moment Harry just stood there, mesmerised by the strong lines of Draco’s body. They’d only had sex a handful of times, and it wasn’t very often they both had the time to get completely naked for it, so seeing Draco like this was the equivalent to getting a promotion at work, Harry thought. 

“Are you just going to stand there and watch, or are you going to help me out?” Draco asked, his voice sounding a bit huskier than usual. “If I’d known I’d be doing this on my own I would’ve finished the job in the shower.”

“You wanked in the shower?” Harry asked, his eyes drawn to the way Draco’s hand moved up and down slowly between his thighs. 

“Doesn’t everybody?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said distractedly as he pulled his pants off and climbed into bed with his lover. “But you shouldn’t be stingy with shower invitations, in that case.” He climbed over Draco and straddled him, leaning down to hungrily suck the pale skin over his collarbone. 

“I’m a highly sought after individual, Potter. You’ll have to wait in the queue with everyone else,” Draco sneered. Or he would’ve sneered, if he’d had the ability to. His words came out sounding more breathy and staggered than haughty and rude. 

Harry knew for a fact that the spot he was sucking and nipping in particular tended to render Draco speechless. In fact, he was sort of impressed that Draco could form a proper sentence. He decided he wasn’t trying hard enough if Draco could still talk of his own self-importance during foreplay. So, in an effort to accomplish his goal of making a gibberish speaking, unintelligible mess of Draco, he rolled his hips forward and the two groaned in unison as their erections met with pleasant friction. He left a trail of damp kisses along Draco’s throat as he made his way up to those slightly parted, pink lips to give them attention too. 

“If I didn’t know any better,” Draco panted as they continued to thrust against each other, “I’d think you were trying to shut me up.” Harry sat up momentarily, took his wand from the nightstand, and summoned the avocado oil from the kitchen. He slicked his hand with a generous amount and distributed it from there to both their increasingly impatient erections, making sure to spend a bit of extra time focusing on the response Draco gave when he applied the oil.

“Not at all, _Malfoy,_ but it is a nice added benefit,” Harry said gruffly as he adjusted his position above Draco.

“You’re such a prick, an absolute—” But he was cut off from his string of half-arsed insults as Harry lined himself up with Draco’s entrance and began adding slow, steady pressure.

 

<>

 

Pacing the kitchen while Teddy ate cereal in his high chair, Draco could not prevent his mind from obsessing over where in the fuck Harry was. It was already five in the afternoon and he’d agreed to meet his mother by half-past. If Harry didn’t show up within the next fifteen minutes Draco would be walking with Teddy to the park on his own and Harry would be getting no morning blowjobs for the rest of the month. The Floo burst to life suddenly and Draco swung around to see Harry stepping out of the fireplace.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said as he rushed over to kiss Draco’s stiff mouth and then to the refrigerator to find what Draco hoped would be a quick snack.

“You should be, I’ve only been waiting for an hour. I thought this instructor of yours was more lenient with hours,” Draco complained, though he did feel immensely better now that Harry was there.

“She is, but in my hurry to get out of there I dropped a pint of troll saliva on the way to the ingredients cupboard. You have no idea how hard that shit is to clean up,” Harry muttered as he poured himself a glass of orange juice and then grabbed a bag of crisps from the pantry. 

“You’d better eat quickly, we need to leave in fifteen.” Draco went to get Teddy out of his chair and give his face a wipe-down before he had to get him dressed for the chilly outdoors. 

“D’you need help with him?” Harry asked through a mouthful of Walkers cheese and onion. 

“No, just eat and change out of those dreadful robes.” Harry frowned down at his clothing and then a look of understanding crossed his features. It wasn’t the first time Harry had worn his protective brewing robes home from work, and it wouldn’t be the last, but Draco didn’t have to like the ghastly puke coloured things. 

As the three of them left Grimmauld Place and headed toward the park of Narcissa’s choosing Draco’s heart began beating frantically in his chest. His lips were drawn in a tight line and he clutched Teddy a bit too close to him as he sat on Draco’s hip. 

Harry seemed to notice because, as the park came into view, he asked, “Are you going to be alright?” Draco swallowed his snappish automatic response and reminded himself that it wasn’t Harry he should be taking his emotions out on.

“I’ll be fine.” And he would, he thought, so long as his mother actually kept true to her word and met him at the empty park. He was thankful the park was uninhabited and he knew he was early, but the fact that his mother was always early for things as well made him concerned at her lack of presence. 

“Oh, they have a small playground,” Harry noted happily. “Let’s see if Teddy likes to swing in the big leagues.” Without protest from Draco, Harry took Teddy and they jogged ahead toward the metal contraption near the centre of the park. It had ropes of chain connected to strangely shaped pieces of rubber material and Draco had never seen anything like it before.

“What are these things?” he asked, catching up with them. 

“It’s a swingset,” Harry explained as he arranged Teddy’s legs to fit into one of the… seats? Draco supposed that’s what it was meant to be. 

“What is is for?” Draco inspected the dirty ‘swingset’ and wondered if it was sanitary enough for Teddy’s use. 

“It’s for swinging. Watch.”

Harry stepped behind Teddy and began pushing him gently in the swing seat. Teddy’s eyes lit up and the hair poking out from his knitted cap turned the exact shade of blue that the sky displayed for them. Squealing in joy, Teddy kicked his legs and gripped the metal chains on either side of the seat. Draco found himself smiling as he watched Harry push Teddy in the swing. He supposed some muggle contraptions were useful after all, pointless as they may seem.

“You should try it too,” Harry suggested as he pointed to one of the different looking swings. There were several with flat, banana shaped rubber seats— Draco assumed that’s what they were— nearby Teddy’s swing. “It’s easy, just pump your legs to gain momentum.”

“Is this safe enough for a grown man?” Draco wondered in distaste as he edged closer to one of the swings. Harry laughed and paused in pushing Teddy to sit in one of the swings. 

“It’s perfectly safe. Try it.”

“Alright, but you’ll be paying my St. Mungo’s bill should this thing break beneath me.” 

He ignored Harry’s rolling eyes as he sat on the swing and pushed off the ground with his feet. It wasn’t difficult to figure out how to make the strange… toy work. Soon enough Draco was swinging much higher than Teddy was, his back going nearly parallel with the ground and his face gazing into the cloudless sky. Without really meaning to, Draco burst out laughing as his next swing backward made his stomach drop toward the base of his spine.

“Why didn’t I have one of these as a child?” Draco called over to Harry where he was still pushing a delighted Teddy. “These are probably a lot safer than those practice brooms for children; you actually have something to balance yourself with,” he said as he clutched the chains firmly and swung up, up, up again. He felt more carefree than he had since he was a very young child. As much as flying on a broom truly put one in the sky, swinging was like wishing you could fly and finding out it was nearly possible. It was a promise of better things yet to come.

“Your father never would’ve allowed it,” said his mother’s disembodied voice. Draco nearly fell off the swing at its highest point at the sound of his mother’s words, but regained his composure quickly. He used his feet to scrape the ground and slow himself— something that took far too long, considering how undignified he must’ve looked trying to get off a child’s play toy for a serious conversation. “And I had no idea these existed until now,” Narcissa continued softly. 

Draco stood from the swing as soon as he felt he was able to without face-planting in the wood chips surrounding his feet and turned to face his mother. She was dressed in the most muggle outfit Draco had ever seen her wear and she looked absolutely stunning. Her hair was swept back into a lovely French twist and she wore fitted, pale yellow trousers and a tan peacoat over top. He’d had no idea his mother even owned muggle clothing and he never would’ve been able to guess how natural they’d looked on her. 

“Draco,” she greeted him quietly, and though it probably wouldn’t have been noticeable to Harry, Draco could see that she was nervous. It was in the way her hands slightly gripped the hem of her coat sleeves, the nearly invisible lines on each side of lips. It was in the way her eyes shifted between himself, Harry, and Teddy, as though she were assessing every risk involved in meeting him here.

“Mother,” Draco replied evenly, thankful his voice didn’t portray his own nervousness. “Would you like to talk somewhere more private?” He motioned toward the nearby, but not too nearby, park bench sat in the middle of a gazebo. 

“I’d like that, yes,” she agreed. 

Nodding to Harry on her way, Narcissa followed Draco to the gazebo. He waited for her to sit first, then sat down beside her, doing his best not to sit close enough that he would touch her in any way. It was a while before either of them said anything, and Draco was glad for the moment of silence which he used to collect himself.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Narcissa said finally. “I wasn’t terribly certain you’d even respond to my letter.”

“I have,” Draco said, pointing out the obvious. “You wanted to discuss things?”

“Most of all I wanted to apologise to you, but yes, I wanted to discuss… things, as you put it.” She took his hand from the bench and held it between her own, her eyes searched his pleadingly and Draco noticed the moisture building at their rims. “I am so, so very sorry, Draco,” she began. “I’ve been a terrible mother of late and I wish I could take it all back. I should never have behaved this way toward you. Please forgive me. Please.” Narcissa was not one to beg, and yet here she was begging her son to accept her apology. How could he deny her this? 

“You took me from the will,” he replied, his voice shaking with the sudden buildup of anger he’d been repressing for months. “You removed my access to the vaults when I needed help most. I’d only just gotten out of Azkaban and you took away any sense of security I had. You didn’t even try to see if Andromeda would allow me to stay, did you?” The accusation fell easily from his lips, which were now curled in a sneer he had usually reserved for Potter back in school. “Your own son— you left your own son with no money, no family, in a society that had never hated him as much as it did then. And you expect me to just let it go? Water under the bridge? You threatened me! You threatened Harry!”

“I know! I know…” Narcissa’s tears began to fall and her lip trembled as she looked away. Draco took his hand from hers, having forgotten until that moment that she still held it. “I should never have done those things and I realise it now. Draco, I’m so sorry…” 

“And so you should be,” he snapped. “Even Father disagrees with the way you handled things.”

“He’s told me enough times.” She sniffled and wiped her tears on the back of one hand. “I’m aware of my faults, of the mistakes I’ve made, of the things I put you through. If I could take it all back I would, but I can’t. What can I do to redeem myself?”

“I’m not even sure you can,” Draco admitted, feeling spiteful and wishing his mother could feel just how hurt he was. “Is my being gay really that horrible? So I prefer men to women, does that really change who I’ve been all my life? I’ve known for certain since I was sixteen years old, and had a vague idea of it since before even then. I’ve been the same Draco all these years until recently and the only change I’ve made was learning how fucked up it was, the way you and Father raised me. The thoughts you put in my head all through my childhood, all through school… You have more than this to be ashamed of, Mother, I hope you know.” It wasn’t until after he’d sworn that he realised he’d never done so before in his mother’s presence, but he didn’t have it in him to care at that precise moment. In fact, he quite liked the feeling it brought, the sense of liberation and the intensity it displayed.

“I do,” she whispered. “I’ve made so many mistakes with you. I’m afraid I can’t change those mistakes now, but please believe me when I tell you that I’m proud of who you are now. I’m proud of you, Draco.”

“Since when?” he bit back at her. Her words were making it very difficult to remain angry with her, the way her mouth shook between words made Draco want to pull her into his arms and forgive every wrongdoing she’d ever committed. “Since when have you been proud of me?”

“I’ve been proud of you all your life, until I found out… Until I found out that you…”

“That I what? That I prefer shagging men?”

“Draco! You may be upset with me, but please do not speak so inappropriately to me! I’m still your mother. No mother wants to hear words like that come from their child’s tongue.”

“No son wants his mother to disown him over who he sleeps next to at night,” Draco shot back. Narcissa sighed and wiped her face yet again. 

“You have a point there,” she sighed in defeat. 

Draco, for whatever strange reason, began chuckling at his mother’s easy admission. Narcissa’s head shot up at his laughter, a look of shock on her pale, pointed face. And then she began laughing with him. Her light, tinkling laugh brought back so many memories between them, memories that only he shared with her. The time Draco, at six years old, had accidentally broken Lucius’ prized goblin made vase during a game of chase with their crup, Socrates. Narcissa had only kneeled beside him and told him that she’d always thought ‘that thing’ gaudy and ridiculous, and laughed as she vanished the broken pieces. The day that Draco, at sixteen years old, had fallen prey to Bellatrix’ Cruciatus Curse more times than he ever had before and Narcissa had lay in bed beside him afterward, rubbing his forehead with a cold, damp cloth. She’d sung him silly limericks about hunchbacked sailors and their scurvy teeth, giggling nervously after each one to try and lighten the mood as Draco shook with temporary nerve damage. These, and moments like these, came fluttering back into his mind, and he knew he could no longer be upset with his mother. As their laughter died, Narcissa tried once more with her apology.

“You deserve a much better mother than I could ever be,” she whispered, her voice shaking again. “You deserve a mother who never would’ve put you through any of the things I’ve done to you, a mother who doesn’t disown her son over trivial things… but I’m not, sadly. I do love you, Draco, and I’ve tried to show you that I love you in my own way all these years. I’ve failed you many times, I’ve risked your life, I’ve left you stranded… Merlin I’m a piece of work, aren’t I?” She shook her head sadly before continuing. “If there is anything, anything at all, that I could do to enable you to forgive me, I’d do it. Just say the word, Draco, and I’ll do whatever it is you require. I just want to be your mother again.” 

Draco was absolutely torn. On the one hand, he badly wanted to have a relationship with his mother regardless of what happened between them. He wanted to have tea with her in the afternoons like always had over summer break in school, he wanted her advice on raising Teddy, he wanted her cool composure in the face of a crisis. On the other hand, Draco wanted just as badly to walk away with his vault access and give her the cold shoulder for a while longer, just to make her fully understand what she’d done. 

“Can you forgive me?” Narcissa’s question interrupted Draco’s indecisiveness and he came to the conclusion that his choice should fall somewhere in the middle of the two extremes he’d been considering.

“I can,” he said carefully.

“But?” Narcissa supplied.

“But I need time to think over all of this. I forgive you, but I will never forget what you’ve done. I can’t. I need time to consider where we should go from here, and I can’t decide that in one meeting with you. It feels too fragile between us at the moment, like suddenly everything could fall apart and it’ll go right back to where we were.” He had no idea where this candour was coming from, but it was too late to shut his mouth.

“I understand fully,” his mother replied with a slow nod of her head. “Of course you’ll need time. I promise you that I will never in my life repeat what I’ve done, but it will take that time you need for you to truly believe me.” Draco nodded in agreement and looked over to where Harry and Teddy were playing in a sandbox together. “You’re raising your cousin with him,” Narcissa commented lightly, and Draco was glad for the chance in subject. 

“I am. It’s… not easy,” he confided. “I’m the stay-at-home guardian, so I’m with Teddy all day until Harry comes home from Auror training. It can get pretty exhausting, even if Teddy is what’s considered a ‘good’ baby.”

“He’ll be walking soon and it’ll only get more difficult,” Narcissa said in a commiserating tone. “Be thankful that you have someone to assist you in this, even if he is gone most of the day. Your father was never very good with you as an infant. I can say with certainty that I never witnessed him playing with you in a pit of sand.”

“I can’t say I recall something like that ever happening,” Draco agreed. “But surely he won’t be walking that soon. He’s only… almost a year,” he finished in sudden comprehension. “Shit.”

“Language, Draco, please.”

“That’s another thing,” Draco said, pulling back their previous conversation in irritation. “I’m no longer the perfect pureblood son you always wanted. I swear, I have premarital sex, I drink, and I have muggleborn friends. If that’s a problem…” he trailed off, not even registering that he’d just labelled Hermione Granger as one of his friends. 

“No! I-I can accept these things, it’s just strange hearing such vulgar words from you.” Narcissa sighed, but seemed to be genuine. “I raised you to have good manners. I’m not used to this new you, Draco. Please understand.”

“I do understand, but _you_ need to understand that I’m not the man I used to be. I’m not going to fall back into the habit of agreeing with your every word, not calling you out on saying blood supremacist things, not taking a stand and being myself. I don’t doubt it’ll take some getting used to, but this is what you’ll find. You can take me as I am or not take me at all.” Narcissa visibly swallowed and closed her eyes momentarily before a small smile graced her lips and she opened her eyes again to look at Draco.

“I’ll take you as you are, I think,” she said pleasantly. “Aside from your new vocabulary I have to say I’m impressed with you, son. I never thought I’d see the day when you stood against me or your father. I had hoped,” she added with a tilt of her head, “that you would long ago, during the war, but in all truth I think it would’ve meant the death of our entire family.”

“What do you mean?” Draco had never heard his mother speak about the war since it had ended. He’d also never heard her say outrightly that she wished he’d taken the other side as opposed to the side of Voldemort. 

“I mean that… before you took the Dark Mark… I had hoped that you would realise how bad things were getting, how bad things already were. I’d hoped that someone from the other side— be it Severus, Albus, Minerva, or any of them— would offer you safety. It would have meant going against your father’s and my ‘wishes,’ but for the longest time I hoped against hope…”

“You wished I would’ve abandoned you and Father? For what? My own safety? My own selfishness?” Draco found himself shaking his head slowly. “You and Father had me so convinced that Voldemort—” Narcissa twitched back against the bench at Draco’s use of the name, but he pressed on without pause, “—would win the war. How could I have turned against what, at the time, was logic? It would’ve been suicide for all of us, only it would’ve been my fault we’d died instead of Father’s poor decision making skills.”

“I know,” Narcissa said calmly. “I just wanted you safe. It was a nonsensical hope, truth be told, but a mother will do, say, and hope for strange things when her child’s life is at risk. I don’t think I ever told you, but I lied straight to the Dark Lord’s face on the night of his and Potter’s final battle.”

“Harry told me,” Draco replied, to his mother’s mild surprise. 

“Yes, well… I only did it because Potter told me you were alive. A mother’s love for her child knows no bounds.” 

“Unless he’s gay,” Draco pointed out. “And dating the saviour of the wizarding world.”

“You’re going to hold that against me for the rest of me days, aren’t you?”

“Wouldn’t you?” He pinned Narcissa’s gaze down with his own and silently dared her to disagree. This was the woman who had kept him from one of his only sane relatives for his whole life, her simple reasoning that said relative had married the ‘wrong sort.’ Narcissa sniffed and turned her face away after a bit, once more observing Harry with Teddy. 

“I know he loves you,” she said quietly. “I’ve seen you two together, and I know you love him as well.”

“You’ve seen us together? When, before now?”

“Never you mind,” Narcissa evaded with a dismissive flourish of her hand. “This will be a long-term situation, will it not?”

“I certainly hope it will be,” Draco said, confused. He couldn’t tell if she was leading up to something or just asking questions for the sake of hearing the answers. 

“The laws in place make it very difficult for the same sex to wed,” she stated.

“Impossible, actually. The Ministry doesn’t recognise same-sex marriages. Harry’s working on changing that at the moment.” Almost imperceptibly, Narcissa’s flaxen eyebrows raised. 

“And is that why you wear the ring?” 

“Oh, that. No, it’s a promise ring.”

“What is the difference between a promise ring and an engagement ring?” Surprisingly, she didn’t sound condescending; rather, she sounded more curious than anything. 

“Intentions,” Draco explained simply. “An engagement ring implies eventual marriage. A promise ring is just that, a promise. He’s promised me many things, none of them unwelcome.”

“He’s paid your way for months, assisted you in raising your infant cousin, welcomed you into his home unquestioningly, and agreed to be your moral support in coming to hash things out with your estranged mother,” she speculated. “Do you not wish to marry him?”

“I don’t wish to marry anyone, Mother. You and Father always impressed upon me the importance of continuing the family through an heir, getting married to a good pureblood girl, and living the life of a proper Malfoy. Marriage, now that I don’t have to do any of those things, is furthest from the top of my priorities at the moment.”

“You could be one of the first same-sex marriage Britain has ever seen.”

“Yes, we could, but I don’t want to. Let the others get married, cheers to that, but it’s not for me. I don’t have any intention of following the path you laid out for me since I came into this world kicking and screaming.”

“You did no such thing when you were born. You were an absolute cherub angel.” Narcissa sighed, sounding wistful. “What I’m gathering is that you are refusing to marry the man who is obviously fit for you out of spite to your parents. An act of rebellion when you’ve already done all the rebellious things aside from that. I can see that he would gladly marry you, Draco. Does he realise the implications behind an elven crystal ring?” Draco blinked several times, not knowing the answer to her question and realising that she was correct in her accusations of rebellion. “Do _you_ remember?”

“Some of it,” Draco mumbled. “I remember the part about elven crystal being an old pureblood custom when you fancied someone, but it didn’t specify whether that meant rings or other objects as well.”

“I asked you to read the entire book. Had you done so, you might understand what your ring means,” Narcissa said, only mildly chiding. “There is the possibility that your Potter doesn’t even know what it means. Perhaps he saw that it was expensive and thought it would suit you, perhaps he did a bit of research first. You’d have to ask him about that.”

“Right, right, get to the part about what my ring means, please.”

“I see the patience I taught you is dwindling,” she commented in jest. “Elven crystal is one of the oldest and most cherished stones in wizard society, no matter the region. It’s been prized since some of the earliest magical civilizations for its ability to drive away darkness and draw in light. Some older and less practiced uses for it were sharpening the wit, calming anger, clarifying dreams, and—”

“So he thinks I’m stupid and evil?” Draco asked, unable to prevent himself. Narcissa snorted, something he’d only heard her do a few times.

“I doubt it, but who knows? As I was saying,” she said with one lifted brow, “it has been used to protect and keep pure the auras of those who wear it. These uses are all relative to the way the crystal is worn. In the form of a necklace at the throat, it is meant for wit and strength of character. When placed in a crown or diadem, it is meant for clarifying dreams and protection of the mind, and so on. In the form of a ring, however, it is meant to bind and strengthen the relationship between the giver and receiver of the ring. It wasn’t always used as an engagement ring, but some more wealthy purebloods did consider it tradition and would require that the suitors of their female children, or their male children in courtship, purchased or were given elven crystal rings.

“The cut of your ring in specific is meant to relieve heaviness of heart, protect against the envy of others and gossip behind your back, and allow you to let go of negative forces of the past and be productive with your personal growth. Did he give the ring to you while kneeling?”

“Er, no, he was sitting.” Draco was taken aback by all of this information and he was beginning to wish he’d read the pureblood customs book his mother had requested him to.

“That has significance as well, but I’m not sure he would’ve looked that far into things, if he looked at all.”

“What’s the significance behind sitting?” Call it morbid curiosity, but Draco had to know.

“Primarily love and wishes for your success. Sitting rather than kneeling, for obvious reasons, is the one thing that leads me to believe he had no hidden intentions behind giving you this ring. Kneeling would’ve implied the unmissable things like marriage, bondage, joining in union, and so on.”

“So basically he just wants what’s best for me?”

“Simply put, yes.”

Draco thought on this flood of information for a moment. If Harry had looked into pureblood customs and the history behind elven crystal, which he very well could’ve, then this ring meant more than Draco had originally thought. It wasn’t as though Harry had hidden anything from him, really, because he’d promised, “to push you towards whatever passions you have and build you up when you can’t believe in your own capability.” If that didn’t mean he wanted what was best for Draco, then what did? Personal growth, letting go of the past, heaviness of heart… It all fit. And the ring was meant to strengthen their relationship, wasn’t it? Draco had known that immediately. He definitely had to discuss this with Harry.

“He bought me a cello, you know,” he said to break the silence. “A very expensive one. It sounds beautiful.”

“Of course it does, if you’re the one playing it.” Narcissa smiled and patted Draco’s knee. “I support your decision, Draco. I’m sorry I didn’t from the beginning, but I do now.”

“Thank you.”

“Would it be rude of me to ask to talk to Harry privately as well?”

“No, I’ll go take over Teddy-duty and send him over here,” Draco said as he stood from the bench. He turned to face his mother, unsure of what to say but needing to say something more. “I love you,” was what came popping from his lips unbidden.

“And I love you, Draco,” his mother said with a smile. She stood and stepped toward him, but Draco could see the hesitation in her eyes and her stance. He took the final step between them and wrapped his arms around her, refusing to let the tears out that stung behind his eyelids. “Thank you so much for your forgiveness. I know I don’t deserve it, but I’m glad to have it either way.”

Narcissa’s arms tightened around Draco once before she let him go and stepped away. Draco gave her a half-smile before crossing the park and taking Harry’s place in the sandbox.

 

<>

 

“How did it go?” Harry asked as Draco sat beside him on the edge of the sandbox.

“Pretty well, considering how it could’ve gone. We made up, for the most part.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Harry said with a smile. He leaned over and kissed Draco’s cheek softly, not caring if it was inappropriate to do so while in view of Narcissa.

“She wants to talk to you, too. Probably wants to apologise for being such a horrible person.”

“Oh… alright. I’ll be right back, then.” Draco leaned toward him and kissed him chastely, offering Harry the courage he needed to go and speak to his boyfriend’s mother. 

Harry contemplated whether or not he was going to talk to Narcissa for Draco’s sake or for the sake of propriety. It would be incredibly rude to deny Narcissa the chance to apologise, and if Harry was being completely honest he felt he was owed an apology. Perhaps not as much ad Draco deserved one, but he had been the one to support Draco through everything his mother had put him through. Even if he and Narcissa never got along, even if they continued to hold each other at an icy distance for the remainder of their lives, he felt he’d be giving up a golden opportunity by not going to talk with her. After all, it wasn’t every day you got to witness the coldest woman in Britain— aside from maybe Petunia— grovel for forgiveness. So he went and stood before her, unsure if he should sit or not until she patted the bench beside her. 

“You wanted to talk with me?” he asked, wanting to keep this as short as he could. He’d heard the louder portions of Narcissa and Draco’s discussion and wanted to avoid any hostility if possible. 

“I did. I wanted to first apologise for the way I treated you and Draco, for causing you to have to pick up the pieces of my mistakes. I’m sorry for threatening you,” Narcissa began, holding his eyes with her earnest ones. “I also want to thank you for doing just that. Thank you for being there for him while I was putting him through hell over something as stupid as who he chooses to love. Thank you for loving him in return and seeing him for who he truly is when no one else could.”

It was too weird, hearing her speak so fondly to him, to hear her thank him so profusely for things he did out of desire, not out of obligation. Weird, but also incredibly past due, he thought. 

“No problem,” he said with a tight smile. “And you’re forgiven. Just don’t pull anything like that again in the future, because I can bet you every galleon in my vault that he won’t be so inclined to forgive you if this does happen again.” Narcissa nodded quickly, passionately, as though her life depended on agreeing with him, as if nodding her head fast enough could convince Harry he could trust her not to make such a stupid decision in the future.

“I’m so thankful that you’ve forgiven me, Mr. Potter,” Narcissa said as she stared down at her hands. Harry felt odd seeing her bow her head in shame like this, but it was necessary that she feel ashamed of herself for what she’d done to her son. It would be even more odd if she weren’t ashamed. “This will never happen again, I promise you. I can’t believe I disowned him in the first place.”

“Why did you?” Narcissa’s head snapped up at his blunt question and her lips parted slightly as she inhaled a quiet breath. 

“Why did I disown Draco?”

“Yeah, that.”

“I-I… It all seems so stupid now—”

“Right, I know. It seemed pretty stupid right from the start, if you ask me. You didn’t ask me, but, well… It was really stupid, what you did. I’d like to know why you felt it was necessary to threaten me and take away everything he had.” Harry paused and waited for her to answer, but after several moments passed and she said nothing, he went on. “Listen, you don’t have to explain anything to me, but I think it would make your apology seem much more heartfelt if you knew what exactly you’re apologising for.”

“I already told you why,” she whispered, sounding afraid and confused. 

“Right, you’re sorry you threatened me, attempted to ruin both mine and Draco’s lives, et cetera. You haven’t explained to me, at least, why you did those things in the first place. I’d like to know.” Forget not wanting to be hostile; this meeting was bringing back emotions he’d thought were long buried and disregarded, but apparently had been lingering beneath the surface this entire time. 

“I thought I was losing him,” Narcissa finally admitted, her eyes pinched closed and her head bowed again. “I thought I would lose him if he were open about his sexuality in a world that already wanted to demonise him so badly. Imagine the response the press would’ve had—”

“I don’t have to imagine it; I lived it. With him. You were no help.”

“I wasn’t,” she agreed. “I didn’t know what else to do. I thought that if I could convince him that what he was doing with you was wrong I could keep him safe, protect him from the public’s shame and disgust.”

“Seems like you ended up just making everything worse, and in the end you did lose him for a while.”

“I’m not sure I’ve got him back completely, but you’re right. I did make everything worse. If I could go back and stop myself from writing that bloody letter…”

“All the time-turners were destroyed by the Ministry, so good luck with that one,” Harry snarked. 

“You have every reason to be this way with me,” Narcissa said, and Harry could see the corners of her eyes beginning to moisten. “You have every right to hate me. But please don’t lie to me and tell me I’m forgiven if all you plan to do is belittle and insult me.”

“Have I belittled you? I’ve pointed out facts. I’m not sugar-coating any of it because from experience I’ve learned that being up-front about one’s feelings tends to make life run more smoothly in the end. It hurts like a bitch, being told you’ve messed up, but you’ve got to deal with it either way. Nobody wants to go through the shame of apologising, especially when they’ve done something as bad as you have. The fact that you’re trying to make up for what you did, if what you’ve said is true, is admirable, but you can’t expect it to be all sugar quills and rainbows.” Narcissa’s nostrils flared ever so slightly at his bluntness, but when she spoke her voice was level and civil.

“I would never expect it to be that way. I never even expected Draco to forgive me, nor you, for that matter.”

“And yet here we are, you’re forgiven completely. Just because I’m not willing to overlook the things you’ve done doesn’t mean I don’t forgive you. It does mean that I don’t trust you and I’m wary of the things you do.”

“Again, you have every reason to feel that way,” Narcissa stated calmly, her stony composure still in place. “I want you to know that I’m in support of what you’re doing. With the laws, I mean, but also when it comes to the changes I can see in Draco. He’s grown up, he’s no longer the boy I raised.”

“Thank Circ for that,” Harry muttered, a bit louder than he’d intended, especially considering he hadn’t meant to say it at all.

“The changes he’s gone through are due in part to your influence in his life,” Narcissa continued, overlooking his slight toward her parenting skills. “I don’t think he would’ve been able to grow into himself without your influence.”

“You’re underestimating him. He would’ve done just fine without me, but I can say that it probably would’ve taken him loads longer to go through these changes if he didn’t have someone there to force him to take a better look at himself.” Harry thought for a moment before he said, “But he’s done the same for me, I think.”

“Oh?” 

“Yeah. He’s made me take a good look at who I am, too. I think we’ve both evolved more quickly for being together. It’s definitely not one-sided.”

“That you can see this is rather impressive, Mr. Potter.”

“Good god, just call me Harry. Sounds weird being called Mr. Potter by anyone who’s not my boss.”

“Alright, Harry… If you’d like to, you may call me Narcissa. I’d have to agree with you, though. I do think Draco has affected you positively.”

“That’s usually how relationships go, right? I know Ron would still chew with his mouth wide open, chatting away and letting crumbs fall all over the place if it weren’t for Hermione. And she probably wouldn’t understand a single punchline in a joke if it weren’t for Ron.”

“Yes, well, eating habits and comedy aside, I believe that you and Draco have assisted each other on a more spiritual level. From what I’ve witnessed you two seem to be bound to each other in more than just a physical sense.”

“What do you mean, exactly?” Harry asked slowly. 

“How well did you research the ring you gave him?” At her question, her simple, easy-to-answer question, Harry’s cheeks lit up as bright as a Weasley family portrait. 

“Why do you ask?” he stalled. 

“You know exactly why I’m asking. Do you understand what it means? Do you know what the cut of the ring signifies, or the way that it was given? Do you know what uses and meanings elven crystal has?”

“I may have done a bit of research,” Harry mumbled, wishing he’d been a little bit less sappy about Draco’s most expensive and meaningful Christmas present.

“As I thought. That’s probably an understatement, isn’t it?”

“Probably,” Harry agreed, his cheeks remaining as red as they’d been since her first inquiry about the ring.

“Draco didn’t know.”

“But I already told him what it meant, I gave him the promises—”

“Do you intend to marry him one day?”

“Draco doesn’t want to get married and I respect his decision.”

“Let me rephrase. Do you _want_ to marry Draco?”

“I… It’s too soon to discuss marriage. We haven’t even been dating that long. It’s a bit weird, being asked if I want to marry him, don’t you think? And how am I to know that everything I say won’t get right back to him?”

“Wise of you,” Narcissa commented with what could’ve been a proud smile, if Harry was seeing things correctly and not hallucinating. “I believe you do intend to marry him one day. I believe that you’re simply beating around the proverbial bush about it. Please know that, at this point, I would not be against such a union.”

“You’re meddling and it’s really not something you have the right to do at the moment,” Harry said. His tone almost suggested irritation but he hoped that Narcissa caught the sly glint in his eye. “Why are you so concerned about marriage? What does it matter to you?”

“Maybe it doesn’t matter to me. Perhaps I’m just stating the obvious, what I’m seeing presented before me.”

“You’re pretty manipulative, you know that?” Apparently he wasn’t above being rude to Draco’s mum, just as he was apparently not against getting somewhat snippy with her. It was rude and he knew it, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care for various reasons. 

“I wasn’t placed in the House of Slytherin for no reason, Harry Potter,” Narcissa said with a cunning grin. “But this is simply your perception of me at the moment. Who knows? In time your perception could change.”

“You’d know all about perception changes, wouldn’t you? Why did you decide to change your mind about Draco and I, anyway?” Narcissa appeared to think on this question for a moment before linking her fingers together and knocking them against her knees several times. Harry thought he recognised this as a nervous habit, but for Narcissa it could just mean she was losing patience. 

“I wasn’t going to tell either of you this,” she began, speaking to her lap. “If I don’t, I’m sure it will plague me with guilt for the rest of my days, and I think you deserve to know.” Harry was already not liking the sounds of this, but kept silent as she went on. “I had planned to exact my revenge on you for ‘taking my son from me,’ as you’re well aware. You had no idea, and how could you, that I was there at the Ministry Christmas do.”

“But we didn’t see you there,” Harry said, his brows furrowed in confusion as he tried to accurately recall the Christmas party.

“I think you’ll find that you did see me there. Do you remember a woman with golden spectacles?” Harry thought hard about her only clue, which was rather vague.

“Oh! But… that was someone else,” he told her, wondering why she was bringing up some random Ministry party guest.

“It wasn’t.”

“That would mean you—” And suddenly it dawned on Harry that she must’ve used some sort of glamour or— “It was Polyjuice, wasn’t it? You used Polyjuice to disguise yourself so we wouldn’t know it was you! I kept wondering why that woman was always right there whenever something would happen between Draco and I and the other guests… It was you.”

“It was. I had originally planned to poison you that night, but after I witnessed how much you truly cared for Draco I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I saw that you really did love him and were willing to stand up for him, protect him from people he would be forced to cooperate with under any other circumstances, and to respect his boundaries when he felt uncomfortable. I saw how you respected him and I saw how much he’d changed from a young boy to a young man.”

“Wait, wait, hold on… You were going to poison me? As in, to kill me?” Hadn’t he told Dean the other day that he wasn’t scared of being poisoned? Maybe he’d been over-confident in that aspect… “What the _fuck?_ ”

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Narcissa began, but Harry wasn’t finished.

“You apologised already, but you just happened to leave out the part where you tried to kill me?!”

“I didn’t go through with it!” she defended herself adamantly.

“As if that makes things _any_ better! Obviously you didn’t, or I’d likely be dead by now, wouldn’t I? You went so far as to sneak into an invite-only Ministry do and disguise yourself as someone we wouldn’t recognise— in the buffet line, near the champagne. That’s when you were going to do it, weren’t you? I saw you there, you were standing right behind us… You could’ve fucking killed me!”

“I had planned to, yes, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t bring myself to take away the source of Draco’s happiness.”

“Right, because the moral compass you keep didn’t happen to tell you that killing people is wrong, you just wanted your son to be happy. Well thank fuck for that,” he snipped sarcastically. “So, what, next time Draco and I argue you’ll go right back to wanting to kill me? What if he decides he doesn’t want to be with me anymore? Will you kill me then?”

“No, Harry,” Narcissa sighed in a long-suffering way. Harry felt he should be the one with the long-suffering sighs after what she’d just told him. “I don’t want to kill anyone. I realised after I’d thought about it for a time that killing you would be ridiculous. Killing anyone for such petty reasons is ridiculous.”

“Oh, but you had to think about it for a while to come to that conclusion? What is wrong with you? Why did it take you ‘a time’ to figure out that murder is fucked up? How does anyone not already know that?” That was one thing that had always confused Harry about the war, about Voldemort’s followers. How could anyone think that what they did was right? Killing innocents never seemed like a good plan to Harry, or most people for that matter, so what imbalance in brain chemistry caused someone to not understand that?

“I grew up in a world very different from the one we live in today, Harry. I grew up being taught that anything not pureblood, anything that strayed from tradition, was abhorrent. The leniency in place for people your age now… That didn’t exist in my generation. I can’t explain why I felt the need to go so far in the hopes of getting my son back, but I can tell you that I regret everything I’ve done regarding you both in recent months.”

Harry shook his head. He had no idea what to say to her at that point. She’d just admitted to planning to murder him for the sake of forcing Draco back into her little pureblood box of ideals. The fact that he was still sitting beside her on the park bench trying to understand her reasoning was suddenly pointless to Harry. He stood up and took a couple steps toward Draco and Teddy before turning around to face her one last time.

“I won’t mention this to Draco,” he started, and Narcissa’s expression perked up immensely.

“Oh, thank you—”

“No, don’t fucking thank me. I’m not doing this for you,” Harry told her in a low voice, stepping forward so that she might hear him better. “I’m doing this for him. I’ve seen how badly you hurt him since you sent that bloody stupid letter full of threats. I’ve held him while he sobbed because he missed you and thought he’d never have a relationship with you again. I spent a Christmas doing everything I could to distract him from the fact that his own mother couldn’t love him enough to get over herself enough to accept him as a person. I’ve made efforts to include him in the only family I have, tried to get the Weasleys to see who he really is, and actually succeeded, because you weren’t there to be his family when everyone else he loves is either dying or in prison. Molly’s been more of a mother to him than you have recently.

“But now he has you back. He has his dear, sweet, psychotic mother back, and I’ll be damned if I’m the one to take that away from him. If he knew what you tried to do to me I know for a fact he’d go right back to trying to hate you and it would torture him for the rest of his life. So don’t thank me and don’t think for one second that I’m doing this out of kindness toward you.”

Narcissa had stared at him, dumbfounded, as he went on and on. When he finished he gave her no time to reply, immediately turning around and striding toward Draco and Teddy. He did his best to put a casual smile on his face, but Draco’s concerned look told him he hadn’t done a very good job. 

“Is everything alright?” Draco asked, looking Harry up and down as though he were looking for injuries. “I heard your voice raise, but I couldn’t really tell what you were saying.”

“You know me, I had to give her an earful before I accepted her apology. I couldn’t just forgive her without letting her know exactly how badly she’d fucked up in the first place,” Harry explained easily. It felt wrong, omitting from Draco the last part of his and Narcissa’s conversation, but he had promised Narcissa he wouldn’t say anything. He knew what would happen if he did tell Draco and he wasn’t interested in making a freshly good situation worse than it had been previously.

“I did pretty much the same thing,” Draco said with a grimace. “But I’m glad she and I are at least on speaking terms again. I’m not sure how active a part in our lives I want her to have, but I have a working relationship with her again. That’s more than I ever really expected.”

“Yeah, it’s great that you two are talking again.” He smiled once more, but he knew it wasn’t a genuine smile and it seemed Draco did too, though he refrained from saying anything about it. 

They waved goodbye to Narcissa before they dusted the sand off Teddy and left the park for Grimmauld Place again. All the while Harry had a sick feeling in his gut about Narcissa’s final admission. He wasn’t good at lying and he never had been. He felt omission was a form of lying, but he couldn’t bring himself to be honest about it. Too many issues would arise and resurface if he didn’t keep his mouth shut. 

When he and Draco climbed into bed that night the only thing that kept Harry from blurting out his new secret was Draco’s face between his thighs and then his own mouth full of Draco’s cock. It’s quite hard to think straight during the receiving or giving blowjob, let alone confess horrible things about your boyfriend’s mother. He went to sleep that night with his secret safe, but a guilty conscience. He’d have to talk to Hermione about this, or someone, else he’d go mad.


	28. Trouble In Paradise

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall greeted him as her head formed from the flames in the kitchen hearth. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Hi, Professor. I was wondering if I could come through and talk with Hermione, actually.” He felt incredibly rude to be asking for someone other than the Floo connection’s owner, but he really did feel like he’d go mad if he didn’t talk to someone soon. McGonagall wasn’t exactly his ideal advice giver in matters like this.

“Absolutely,” McGonagall replied with a kind, small smile. “Let me lift the wards restricting my connection. It will take a moment, so wait until I’ve signalled you before you Floo.”

“Alright, thanks, Professor.” 

Harry stood back from the fireplace and waited for what seemed an eternity for his flames to turn green again. When they’d gone back to their normal colour Harry tossed in a fistfull of emerald, gritty powder and called out for the Headmistress’ office. Hermione was already sitting in front of McGonagall’s desk when Harry stepped through the office fireplace, a steaming mug of tea in her one hand and an inked quill in the other. Harry saw that there was a pile of parchments on the desk in front of her and she seemed to be pausing in her filling out of forms. 

“Hey,” Hermione said as she set down quill and cup to embrace him. “Is everything alright? I wasn’t expecting a physical call from you.”

“I’ll give you two some privacy,” McGonagall said as she stood from her desk and began crossing the room toward the large oak door to her own connected rooms. “Lovely to see you, Harry. I hope all is well.”

“Thanks, you too,” Harry said to her distractedly. As soon as her door was shut Harry started in a frenzy, pacing back and forth in the open office space. “Hermione, something really bad happened— or, almost happened. Around Christmas? At the Ministry Christmas party, to be specific. Mrs. Malfoy finally contacted Draco, she added him to the will and the Malfoy Gringotts vaults. They’re talking again, actually, and they met up yesterday at the park by my house so she could apologise to us.”

“Harry, I’m not following you,” Hermione said seriously. “Something bad almost happened? All of what you just said sounds like positive advancements in your and Draco’s life. What’s this about the Christmas party?” Harry sighed, realising he wasn’t making much sense.

“She tried to poison me. Well, no. She was going to poison me, but ended up thinking better of it. At the Christmas party. She Polyjuiced herself into someone else who had an invitation so she could spy on us, and she said the reason she didn’t go through with it was that she wants Draco to be happy, and apparently she finally saw that I was making him happy.” 

“Harry, you’re joking,” Hermione whispered, her brown eyes wide with fret. “Did she tell you all this?”

“Yesterday she told me privately. This was after Draco and she had spoken for a while and he forgave her. Then she wanted to talk to me after they were done, so I went over to her and she grovelled for a while, I forgave her, and then she told me she almost tried to kill me.”

“What does Draco say about all of this?” 

“That’s the thing, I can’t tell him,” Harry breathed out quickly. “If I tell him it’ll mean everything that happened between him and his mum yesterday was in vain.”

“You can’t just keep this from him, though,” Hermione urged. “What will happen if he does find out much later on? He’ll be upset with you for keeping it from him. Secrets in relationships don’t work, Harry.”

“I know they don’t, but how can I choose between being with him and him having a mum? I couldn’t take his mum from him and that’s exactly what I’d be doing if I told him about this. He’ll be furious with her.”

“You can’t know that.” But Hermione sounded uncertain, which led Harry to believe that he was right in this matter, rare as that was. “Honestly, I would want to know if my mum tried to poison Ron, even if we had just started talking again. What’s the point in having a relationship with someone if it’s built on lies and misconceptions? You’re forcing his judgement of her to be clouded if you keep this from him, and on top of that you really can’t know how much better or worse he’ll feel toward her if you’re honest with him.”

“I can have a pretty good idea, though, and I don’t like the looks of things if I do tell him.”

“It’s not going to be pretty, that’s true,” Hermione conceded, “But you should tell him anyway. He deserves to know.”

“Say you’re right. Say it would be best if I told him.”

“I’m right and it’d be best if you told him.” Harry laughed at Hermione’s taking his hypothetical literally.

“What if I told her I wouldn’t tell him? What if I sort of… promised?” he asked after his laughter had died. 

“Oh, please tell me you didn’t. You did, I already know you did, but why, Harry?”

“Because I thought it was the right thing! I don’t know!”

“You’re a moron, you know,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Does it seem worth it to risk ruining your relationship with Draco by keeping a promise to lie to him?”

“Er, no,” Harry admitted. “But I can’t just tell him, I have to warn her first.”

“Why? Did she warn you before she planned to kill you?”

“Sort of.” Hermione scoffed.

“Okay, well this isn’t you trying to kill her, this is you being honest with Draco about something horrible she did that he _deserves to know about._ ”

“Alright, alright, I’ll tell him.” Hermione smiled smugly and crossed her arms as she leaned back in her chair.

“Good. Smart choice. I can promise you that things’ll go a lot better if you’re just honest with him about all this. He might be upset with her for a while, but in the end she didn’t kill you, obviously, so it’s certainly not as bad as things _could_ be. She did threaten you, after all, so it’s not all that surprising that she had a plan like that. He’ll certainly be grateful she didn’t end up going through with it.”

“Right,” Harry drawled, unconvinced by Hermione’s probably sound logic. “And if he doesn’t forgive her eventually?”

“That’ll be up to him and there’s nothing you can do to control that. Have you forgiven her for planning to kill you? That must’ve been hard to find out about.”

“I haven’t, really. How do you forgive someone for something like that?”

“I forgave Bellatrix.” Harry’s head shot back at her stunning revelation. 

“No fucking way, you didn’t.”

“Well, I’m… working on it. Though I have to admit it’s a lot easier to try and forgive someone who’s dead. She doesn’t exactly give me much ammunition to hate her with these days. Aside from maybe Neville’s parents…” She trailed off with a disgruntled twist to her mouth before clearing her face and looking back up at Harry. “I’m not saying you have to forgive her, Harry, but I think it’d be a lot easier for you if you did. It takes less effort to forgive someone than to hate them, and it does give you a lot of peace of mind. I could stay hung-up on what Bellatrix did, but I’m trying to choose instead to accept what happened and move on. It’s going to take time, but that’s the plan.”

“Would you have forgiven her if Molly hadn’t killed her during the final battle?” Harry asked. 

“Probably, but I would always have been wary of her. She would’ve gone straight to Azkaban if she’d lived through the war— that is, if she didn’t go into hiding. Either way she’d have been out of my hair.” 

“And if she was your mother-in-law?” Hermione’s brows creased in the centre and Harry realised what he’d just said. “I mean, if she was your boyfriend’s mother.” Maybe Narcissa was right about him secretly wanting to marry Draco. Harry pushed that concerning and confusing thought into the back of his head for the time being. It wasn’t something he could focus on at the moment with much bigger fish to fry at hand. 

“Since I’m unable to imagine Bellatrix as my mother-in-law, I’m going to assume you meant what if Molly were the one who’d threatened to kill me and then nearly tried…” Hermione contemplated this for a moment. “I would probably do as much as I could to avoid being in her presence, but I would still tell Ron.”

“She was going to poison me. I think I’ll be avoiding family dinners, at least,” Harry said with a flat sounding laugh. 

“That would be highly recommended, along with any offered beverages,” Hermione agreed seriously. “Really, though, how did she expect to get away with it? Killing the saviour of the wizarding world,” Hermione scoffed. “How absurd.”

“Yeah, well, she didn’t seem to be thinking straight for a while,” Harry said, unsure of whether he was defending her or insulting her.

“It seems like she’s finally settled on being a better person if she’s made efforts to get back into your and Draco’s good graces, at least. That’s something I never would’ve expected.”

“You and me both.” Harry finally sat down in the empty chair next to Hermione’s and sighed heavily. “I’ve got an interview with Cole Camberwell,” he said, changing the subject to something less mind-boggling.

“Have you? That’s great! Who’s Cole Camberwell?”

“He’s a new reporter. Not sure which press he’s working for, but he’s really good. He reminds me of Colin Creevey.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, sounding somewhat sad. “You think he’ll be the right person to express the importance of this speech without giving away what it’s about?”

“I think so. He did a small interview with Draco and I while we waited to get into the Ministry party and when it was published there were no added quotes or insinuations of anything devious. He’s a lot better than Skeeter, that’s for sure.”

“Anyone’s better than Skeeter,” Hermione grumbled.

“True, but he’s a step above ‘anyone,’ I think. He’s a pretty straight-forward bloke, as far as I can tell.”

“I’m glad you found someone reliable for the interview. Is he going to do press coverage for the speech as well?”

“I wanted to ask him after the interview. It’ll make his day, and his career, so I’m pretty sure he’ll do it. I’m considering asking him to do all my interviews from here on out, actually.”

“Wow, he must really be good, then,” Hermione said in slight awe. “Now, was there anything else you wanted to talk to me about? I really need to finish up these forms for Minerva before lunch. I’ve got student counseling then” She smiled apologetically.

“No that just about covers it. Thanks for your help, Hermione. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Wallow in self-inflicted turmoil, most likely,” she laughed. “You’re welcome, anyway. Now go and tell Draco before you chicken out.”

“I’m not a chicken,” Harry protested as he searched out and found the jar of McGonagall’s Floo powder, taking a handful from its contents.

“Bawk-bawk,” Hermione retorted. 

 

<>

 

As badly as Harry had wanted to tell Draco the day he’d found out, for some reason he was finding the task much more difficult now that he knew he had to do it. So many results were flying through his head, ranging from mildly bad to horrible. Not one positive reaction could be conjured in his imagination. The most likely one, he thought, was that Draco would be partially upset with him for not telling him yet— like Hermione had said would happen— but less angry at him than at his mother for trying to kill him in the first place. Then he’d write to her and tell her he never wanted to see her again, or something to that tune. And it would be Harry’s fault for telling him. 

_But if I don’t tell him I’m lying to him,_ he thought. _And I refuse to lie to Draco about anything._ He’d almost come out with it during dinner that night, after Draco had come back from his massage appointment in Hogsmeade, but Draco ended up starting up a new topic of conversation right when Harry had begun to form the courage he needed. Apparently Draco had met a girl who he hoped to become friends with while he was out, and it had happened in the strangest way.

“So you pretended to be her boyfriend?” Harry asked, an amused and bewildered smile twisting his lips. 

“Well, yeah. These blokes weren’t going to leave her alone, I could tell. They kept moving in closer to her, the three of them, and they had the most disgusting smirks I think I’ve ever seen. It was pretty clear what their intentions were and I could see how scared Izzy was. I was impressed at how well she hid it, though.”

“What did you do, then?”

“I’d just left the spa when I saw this happening, those idiots following her down the lane and making eyes at her arse, whistling and such. At first I was going to just leave it be. I didn’t exactly want to get involved in a potentially violent situation with your speech coming up. It would give the homophobes more reason to believe us gays are violent, or whatever. Anyway, I sort of stopped and watched for a moment and then she made eye contact with me. At that point I couldn’t exactly walk away, she’d practically begged me with her eyes to do something.

“So instead of walking away with my tail between my legs I rolled up my left sleeve, strolled up to her casually, wrapped my right arm around her waist— brandishing my Mark for extra effect— kissed her cheek, and asked if she was ready to head to dinner. Those blokes fucked off pretty quickly.”

“What did she do?” Harry felt like a gossiping teenager, but it’d been a long time since he’d heard a story this interesting that didn’t involve him. “Was she upset at you kissing her when she just wanted to be left alone?”

“No, she was incredibly thankful. She offered to pay me for helping her, the odd duck. I refused, but she did force me to let her buy me a muffin from the cafe. Triple chocolate mocha muffin, how could I say no to that?” Harry laughed, unaware of Draco’s chocolate weakness until just then. “So we sat down at a table together, she had a latte and I had my muffin, and we started talking. It was really weird, being spoken to as an equal by someone in our age range. Or any age, for that matter. There’s no way she didn’t know who I was, but she was so kind and friendly that I didn’t even notice I hadn’t rolled down my sleeve until after we left the cafe.”

“Sounds like you made a fine friend, then,” Harry said with a proud smile. He was glad Draco had met someone outside of the Weasley family and Harry’s Gryffindor friends to talk to. A slow, excited smile creeped over Draco’s lips and his eyes shined.

“I think I did. And you’ll never guess what house she’s in.”

“Slytherin?” 

“Hufflepuff.”

“Oh really? I don’t remember an Izzy back in school,” Harry said as he wracked his brain for the name. He thought he’d known most of the Hufflepuffs by name, but he supposed not.

“Izranine Turpentine. She’s in Ginny’s year, but she mostly keeps to herself from the sounds of it. She goes by Izzy, so maybe you’ll remember that name from school.” Draco smiled brightly again and Harry thought he could recall someone mentioning an Izzy once or twice. “I made a friend! My own friend!”

And so Harry hadn’t gotten the chance to tell Draco then. How could he, and ruin Draco’s newfound happiness? It made much more sense to wait until the next day, until Harry realised that he needed to prepare for his interview that coming weekend. He hadn’t thought anything out and had nothing planned to say. Cole knew the gist of what the interview was about, but Harry still felt the need to prepare something. _You’re stalling,_ Harry silently accused himself, and he knew he was. It was just so difficult to find the nerve.

 

<>

 

Draco wasn’t oblivious; Harry was hiding something. He was more jumpy, especially about topics involving Narcissa. When Draco had told Harry on Thursday that she was coming over for tea on Friday he seemed to become suddenly very nervous. When they’d left the park Harry had been strangely quiet and pensive, not giving more than one or two word responses to Draco’s comments and questions. He’d even seemed distracted a bit during the blowjob Draco had given him in an effort to cheer him up. So when Harry became flustered about Friday tea Draco knew he had to investigate.

“What are you keeping from me?” Draco asked calmly, hoping he didn’t come off as offensive. If he knew anything about digging information from Harry, it was that he had to do it tactfully and without making Harry feel he’d done something wrong.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat and took a sip of his orange juice. He had about ten minutes before he had to leave for work and while Draco could think of a better time to have this conversation he couldn’t prevent himself from pressing the matter.

“You’ve been cagey lately, specifically about my mother. What’s going on? Did she say something to you at the park? She did apologise, didn’t she?” Harry rubbed his face tiredly and exhaled sharply.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you for a couple days now, but I didn’t know how. Every time I tried something came up and I didn’t want to ruin your good mood.” So it was worse than Draco had originally thought, if Harry was this worried.

“Why would it ruin my good mood?” he asked slowly, cautiously.

“Well… it’ll probably ruin more than just your good mood,” Harry admitted, staring into his glass of o.j. “It might ruin everything you’ve rebuilt with your mum.”

“Oh. Care to fill me in, finally?” Draco was trying very hard not to get upset, but it really sounded like something he needed to be upset about. Sighing, Harry stood up from his occupied kitchen stool and tossed Floo powder into the hearth. “No you don’t! You can’t just leave after telling me you’ve been hiding something like this,” Draco shouted, knocking his stool over as he stood up and crossed the room quickly.

“I’m not leaving!” Harry yelled back. “I’m going to tell my instructor I’ll be late for work, since this can’t wait until later.”

Draco frowned, feeling foolish for his overreaction. He picked up his fallen stool and waited for Harry to finish up his Floo call, refilling his tea to keep his mind from overworking too much. 

“Alright, so I’m just going to come out and say it,” Harry decided with a pinch of heat in his voice. “Your mum told me at the park that she’d intended to kill me at the Ministry Christmas party.” 

Harry then went on to detail what she’d told him, and all the while Draco sat at the kitchen table, mouth open, tea forgotten, the gears of his mind grinding to a screeching stop. As Harry spoke about what Narcissa had told him, about her disguise, her plan to poison his champagne, and her apologies, Draco began to feel the anger that he’d felt when she’d first apologised to him.

“And she thought she could just keep it from me, pretend nothing had happened so I’d forgive her and be done with our differences…” Draco couldn’t believe her audacity. He absolutely could not. 

“She wasn’t planning on telling me, either. I’m not sure why she did,” Harry admitted. 

“Why didn’t you tell me immediately? This is pretty huge, Harry.”

“Because I knew you were happy to have your mum back,” Harry groaned. It was like he’d known Draco would react this way and was now just trying to bear the storm he’d anticipated. Draco took a deep breath and attempted to think rationally about the whole thing.

“She was going to kill you but changed her mind mid-plan,” he stated, trying to make sense of it, “Because she saw that I was happy because of you, or happy with you. What’s wrong with her?”

“I asked her that, too,” Harry laughed miserably. “Is she still coming for tea tomorrow?”

“Fuck. I don’t know. I’m not sure I want to see her again after finding this shit out.” He’d completely forgotten about tea with Narcissa the next day, even though he’d just told Harry maybe twenty minutes prior to this turn of events. 

“I think you need to talk to her about this,” Harry insisted, sounding equal parts level and uneasy. “This is exactly what I thought would happen when I told you. I don’t want this ruining your guys’ relationship again.”

“She tried to fucking kill you,” Draco said slowly, as though he were speaking to a naughty child. “What about that implies I should give her the time of day?”

“The fact that she didn’t?” He sounded as though he were taking a stab in the dark with that notion and Draco couldn’t help but laugh a bit as Harry’s voice raised in pitch with each syllable. 

“Right, she only tried, that’s so much better. I love having a mother who attempts to end my boyfriend’s life. It’s a gas.”

“Alright, it’s pretty fucking bad, I know,” Harry agreed. “But she’s sorry, and she didn’t go through with it. She did threaten us, so it’s not like she didn’t warn us she was planning something nefarious.”

“Listen, Mr. Big Words—”

“I resent that nickname,” Harry cut in with a laugh.

“Anyway, listen. She may not have gone through with it, but the fact is that she planned to do it at all. I can’t have her in our home, with _access to our food and beverages,_ knowing she wanted to poison you.” 

“Alright, well can’t you meet her somewhere public, like last time? If it helps, she promised not to do something like that again.”

“Why in the world are you defending her?” Draco was utterly bewildered. Harry could’ve been killed at the hands of the same woman he was now trying to reason for. 

“Because I guess… It doesn’t matter to me anymore.” And he sounded as though this was as much a surprise to him as it was to Draco. 

“It… doesn’t… matter. Who are you and what’ve you done with my Harry?” The must-be-imposter Harry crossed the room from the fireplace to stand between Draco’s knees where he sat and cupped his cheeks with both hands.

“I like when you call me your Harry,” he said fondly, placing a soft, lingering kiss between Draco’s brows. “And the reason it doesn’t matter is that I want to forgive her. For you. Because you deserve to have a relationship with your mum. She really seems sorry and I can put this behind me if it means you two can get along again.”

“You’re very touching, love, but my mother wanted to murder you. That’s pretty hard to put behind me, especially when she tried to hide that little tidbit from me during her apology. It’s the thought that counts, as they say.” Draco shook his head, not understanding why Harry was being so cavalier about this. “I really don’t get you sometimes.”

“I had a talk with Hermione the other day,” Harry said, his lips going into a contrite, stiff line. “She recommended I tell you in the first place. I wasn’t going to, but she talked sense into me.”

“You’re lucky to have someone in your life with brains like hers,” Draco said without even thinking about the fact that it was Hermione he complimented. If he’d been told a couple years ago that he’d be tossing out compliments about Harry’s friends one day he’d have laughed himself mad. 

“She also suggested I forgive her, for my own peace of mind. I gave it a lot of thought these past few days and, well… she’s right. There’s no use being angry over something that, one, didn’t turn out badly and, two, most likely won’t happen in the future. You have the opportunity— well, I guess we both do— to turn over a new leaf with your mum. I think we should just let this go.”

Draco stared up into caring, green, bright eyes as he digested Harry’s wisdom. Well, Hermione’s wisdom, if credit was to go where it was due. Harry was right, Draco realised. It was a bigger deal than Harry was making it out to be, but it didn’t have to be as big of a deal as Draco was making it. In the end Harry was alive and Narcissa hadn’t gone through with her plans. He would, however, be having a talk with her about it. 

He rolled his eyes and said, “Fine, we’ll let this go. For now. I’m not over this, but I’m going to discuss this with Mother and go from there. And I’ll be civil,” he added for Harry’s sake. “She probably won’t ever be a huge part of our lives after this, but you’re right, I don’t want to lose her. Again.” Harry’s beaming smile was worth swallowing his anger and resentment, Draco thought. He leaned his face up and Harry took his hint, giving him a long, slow kiss that left Draco’s toes tingling.

When Harry straightened up again he asked, “Alright, now can I go to work?” with a teasing smile on his face. 

“Yes, yes, get out of here, you lazy-arse.” 

Draco collected another short kiss and watched Harry get whisked away to work by way of Floo. Almost as soon as he picked up his neglected tea cup he heard from up stairs a loud thump and then an even louder and more piercing wail. His cup clattered back onto the tabletop, sloshing tea everywhere, but Draco didn’t care. He ran up the steps as fast as his legs would carry him and he burst into Teddy’s room to find Kreacher cradling the small child in his skinny arms, shushing him and swaying him back and forth. Draco halted in the doorway, his severe upswing of panic now being quelled by utter astonishment.

“W-what happened, Kreacher?” Draco asked slowly, trying to get his bearings. Teddy was still whimpering a bit, but it was obvious that Kreacher had soothed him for the most part. 

“Master Teddy has learned to escape his bed cage,” Kreacher replied, sounding both impressed and disapproving. 

“He climbed out of his crib?” he gasped. “How in the world…?”

“Master Teddy is learning every day, Master Draco. Kreacher is sleeping in Young Master’s room. Kreacher is protecting Young Master in the night.” The old elf held Teddy a bit closer to his sack-covered chest and inhaled deeply, sighing in contentment as Teddy nuzzled closer. Draco had never witnessed anything more purplexing in all his life. 

“You… took it upon yourself to make sure he doesn’t get hurt from climbing out of his crib at night?” Kreacher nodded solemnly at Draco. “When did you start doing this? When did he start doing this, for that matter?” Draco sat down in the rocking chair, feeling as though his knees might give out from the shock. 

“Kreacher believes it has been one week,” he said softly. “Master Teddy is a pleasant wizard to be around when the stench is not too much.” Draco chuckled at what was probably complete seriousness on Kreacher’s part. 

“I can agree with that wholeheartedly. Thank you, Kreacher.”

“Kreacher serves The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black to his best ability, Master Draco.”

“Indeed,” Draco agreed as he continued to stare, wide-eyed, at the spectacle before him. For whatever reason— be it seeing a more human-esque side of Kreacher, or perhaps out of desperation— Draco had the sudden urge to get Kreacher’s opinion on the major information Harry had just casually shared with him. “Kreacher, can I ask you something?”

“Anything, Master. Kreacher would do anything,” he replied immediately, pinning Draco with serious, bulbous eyes. Draco was slightly taken aback by the elf’s dedication and loyalty; surely he’d done nothing to really deserve it. But Draco continued anyway.

“I don’t really need you to do anything, it’s just… I’d like your perspective on something.” Kreacher looked at Draco as though he’d lost the plot, all devotion left behind at Draco’s improper treating of a house elf.

“Kreacher does not know anything that Master does not already,” he said slowly. Draco thought this might not be quite true, but wasn’t going to distract himself from the topic at hand.

“Perhaps, but I’d still appreciate someone to listen at the very least.” Draco waited for Kreacher’s nod and then began. “What would you do if someone you loved dearly tried to poison me or Harry? Or, rather… What would you do if Harry or I tried to poison Teddy? This is all hypothetical, of course! We’ve no intention of doing something so disgusting,” Draco added at Kreacher’s sudden fear and obvious distrust. 

Kreacher pondered this for a moment as he placed Teddy in his swing. He held up a single finger to Draco before Apparating out of the room and returning moments later with a loud crack that split the air, as well as a warm bottle of formula. Teddy took the bottle with excited leg kicks and a gurgle of spitty enthusiasm. Then Kreacher sat at the foot of Draco’s chair and began speaking.

“If Kreacher’s masters were threatened by anyone, Kreacher would make sure the vile person was punished,” he said simply, as though it should’ve already been obvious to Draco that he had a streak of psychosis in him. 

“Right,” Draco said. “Well, I can’t punish this person, really, but I’m not sure how to handle the situation.”

“Master Draco said this is a hypothetical,” Kreacher said, confused.

“Well, it sort of is… Someone was going to poison Harry. Someone close to me. Someone I love. They didn’t go through with it, obviously, and Harry is of the opinion that I should just ‘let it go,’ but I don’t understand why he isn’t fuming like a mad man over this. I am… Or, I was before he calmed me down. I still feel like I should be fuming, though.”

Very quietly, and very dangerously, Kreacher asked, “Who has threatened the life of Kreacher’s master?” Suddenly realising that he should never have brought this up in the first place, Draco did his best to backtrack. He wasn’t sure what had compelled him to talk to Kreacher, of all people, about this to begin with. 

“That’s not important. What is important is that there’s no longer a threat to Harry’s life at this point,” Draco explained slowly, carefully. He didn’t quite believe himself, but it seemed to appease Kreacher, which had been the point. “Would you mind keeping an eye on Teddy for a minute while I contact Molly?” Draco asked, suddenly realising he did have someone to talk about this to, someone who would have actual advice aside from punishment. He did plan to punish his mother for this, but he had a feeling that his idea of punishment compared with Kreacher’s were two very different things. 

“Kreacher does not mind,” was the elf’s happy reply. He smiled over at Teddy, who was still chugging away at his eight ounces and swinging gently. 

“Thank you,” Draco said. He stood up and kissed Teddy’s forehead before heading back down to the kitchen to Floo Molly. 

Tossing the powder in and calling out to the Burrow, Draco was expecting to be greeted by Molly’s cheerful face. Certainly he was not expecting Arthur Weasley’s tired one to look around at him from the small Weasley kitchen.

“Good morning, Draco,” Arthur said, punctuating the end of his hello with a large yawn that exposed his crooked bottom teeth. 

“Er, hi,” Draco responded, feeling like Harry was rubbing off on him too much if he was unable to compose himself at such a small divergence from his expectations. “Is Molly around?”

“‘Fraid not. She’s gone to visit her mum. She’s having trouble with her joints and refuses to get treated by the physical therapists at St. Mungo’s. Of course then it falls on Molly to help,” he grumbled. It seemed this man did know something of parents causing disorder in the household. Draco wondered idly if Arthur could help him with his problem. “Is something the matter? Is there anything I can help with? Molly probably won’t be back until tomorrow at the earliest.” 

“Well, I was hoping to speak to Molly about this, but if you’ve got time…” He let his sentence go unfinished, not wishing to burden Arthur, but not knowing what else to do. If Arthur was too busy then Draco would try getting a hold of Hermione, but that would be a last resort. He had a feeling she’d only recommend forgiving his mother, just like she’d done with Harry. That’s not the sort of advice Draco was looking for. 

“I’ve got the whole day off,” Arthur said with a grin. “What’s the trouble?”

“I’ve got a problem,” Draco began, feeling a bit awkward. He had never been particularly close to Arthur, after all, but Arthur didn’t seem to mind, so Draco continued. He explained to him everything Harry had told him about his mother’s wish to end his life, starting with her contacting Draco through letter and their meeting at the park. Arthur’s demeanor changed from one of pleasant surprise to one of outrage. He appeared thoroughly disturbed when Draco finished his story with, “So yeah. That’s what I’m dealing with this morning.”

Arthur inhaled deeply and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again he said, “Would you mind if I came through? Have you got tea ready?”

“There can be tea made, and go right ahead.” Draco was incredibly glad that Arthur seemed to take this as seriously as Draco did. It was no small thing, his boyfriend almost being murdered at the hands of his mother. The fact that Arthur recognised that made Draco feel a sort of comradery with the older wizard. 

The flames in the hearth returned to their natural colours momentarily before they whooshed large and green once more. A soot covered Arthur was deposited in his fireplace. When he stepped out he cast a vanishing charm on the soot and then crossed to the table, taking a seat and looking most comfortable there. It dawned on Draco that Arthur must’ve been here many times, being in the Order, and that he probably did feel comfortable sitting at this table. 

Realising that this was bound to be a longer conversation than he’d first assumed, Draco excused himself to go get Teddy for burping, returning to the kitchen to start a kettle boiling on the stove. As Draco was carrying Teddy down to the kitchen Draco noticed two new teeth on the bottom gums in Teddy’s mouth.

“Excellent! I’m glad those came through for you alright, Teddy. We’ll have to get you some toothpaste, won’t we?” Draco said as he reached the kitchen and swished his wand, sending the kettle to the sink to be filled. Teddy grinned up at him and Draco sat down at the table at the end, diagonal from where Arthur sat. “Sorry about that,” he said to the orange haired man who’d been sitting there patiently since he’d arrived. 

“Not at all! It warms my heart to see you two together. Reminds me of when Bill was first born,” he said with a smile full of memories. “You remind me an awful lot of my first son,” Arthur told Teddy. “I think he even had that shade of hair.”

“Teddy has a tendency to copy the hair colours of those he’s fond of,” Draco explained with a half-grimace. Why those people all had to be Weasleys, Draco wasn’t sure, but he’d noticed that it had been quite some time since Teddy’s hair had been pale blond or black. 

“Ah, I see.” Arthur grinned at Teddy and then focused of Draco once more, a grim look in his eye. “Is it okay to talk about this with him in the room, d’you think?”

“It’s fine. He won’t understand what we’re talking about… I hope. I’m fairly sure he understands more than I think he does, but I know his mental vocabulary can’t be large enough to understand everything we discuss.” Teddy chose that moment to look innocently up at Draco, placing his pudgy hand on Draco’s neck as if to say, ‘I won’t tell a soul any of your secrets.’ 

“Babies are such strange creatures,” Arthur sighed. “If you’re sure... Then, well, I suppose my first question is… what do you think of all this?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing.” The kettle began whistling loudly and Draco levitated it to the table, summoning two clean mugs to go with it. “Chai or Scottish Breakfast?”

“Breakfast, please,” Arthur said with a smile. “And a bit of cream, if you’ve got it.” He sighed and shook his head as he formulated a response. “Now, you’re sure that she’s telling the truth? You know, she could just be telling you this in order to put the ‘fear of god’ in you, as the muggles say.”

Draco wasn’t entirely sure what the muggle saying was supposed to mean, but he got the gist of Arthur’s question anyway. “I’m sure she was serious, as awful as it is. I’m supposed to have tea with her tomorrow, seeing as I haven’t cancelled, and I planned on talking to her about it then… I’m just not sure what I should say to her, or if I should be talking to her at all. She was going to murder Harry.”

“Right, that’s no small offense.”

“I’m glad you realise that; Harry seems to think it’s all just water off a hippogriff at this point.”

“You mean he’s not upset by this?” Arthur seemed perplexed as he spooned a large quantity of sugar into his cuppa. “He’s usually one to overreact. I’m surprised to hear he hasn’t stormed off to get her arrested, or something.” Draco laughed, recalling Harry’s reaction to finding out that he and Draco had been threatened and decided it was something that would make Arthur chuckle as well.

“When this whole ordeal started he was dead set on getting her arrested, only back then she’d only threatened us. Now he finds out she almost murdered him and it’s a different tune he’s singing these days,” Draco chuckled. He was right, Arthur found it funny indeed and sputtered into his cup, splashing tea on the table yet again and reminding Draco he still hadn’t cleaned up the other puddle. A simple cleaning charm fixed both messes, however. 

“Sorry, it’s just the way you put that,” Arthur said, still laughing a bit. “I can’t picture Harry singing at all. But that’s another topic, one that’s not as disturbing as your mother attempting to take his life.” 

“I’d have to agree,” Draco said, wondering if Harry ever did sing, but dispelling the thought to focus on the most important topic. “What would you do if it were you in my shoes?”

“Oh, Merlin… If it were me?” Arthur huffed and pursed his lips, creating a row of wrinkles on his upper lip. “I’d probably have a strong word with my mum if she pulled something like this with Molly. Don’t think I’d be eating or drinking anything of hers for the foreseeable future,” he added with a tilt of his head. “Or inviting her to dine with us, for that matter. I’d call off tea, if I were you, Draco.”

“That’s what I said, too. Harry seems to think I should still talk with her, but he suggested a more public place than here at home.”

“That’s probably the smartest route to take, if you do plan on discussing this—” Teddy interrupted with a loud screech that seemed to be him reminding the two men that he was still there and craving attention. Draco bounced the knee Teddy sat on and kissed the top of his head, which usually soothed Teddy and worked just as well at that moment. “Set of lungs on that one, eh? Anyway, I’d suggest being honest with her about your mistrust. Tell her how you feel about what she’s done and inform her that you won’t trust her until she earns that trust back.”

“That could very well not happen at all. If I ever do trust her again it’ll be a fragile sort of trust.”

“That’s usually how trust works, from my experience. Fool me once, and what not.”

“Fool me once?” 

“Another muggle saying,” Arthur explained. He seemed to be full of those. “Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice, you’ll have no tea. Not sure what tea’s got to do with it, but I suppose it just means that once someone’s broken your trust they only get so many chances before they can’t earn it back again.” Draco decided he’d have to ask Harry about that saying, seeing as he was raised by muggles. Draco had a feeling that’s not what the saying really was, but he didn’t have the heart to tell Arthur so. “Speaking of tea…” He took up the kettle and poured himself another cup.

“You don’t think I’m overreacting about this, do you?” Draco couldn’t help but feel Harry was downplaying the situation and he hoped he wasn’t the only one who thought it a bigger deal than Harry did.

“Not at all! I’d be incensed if something like this happened to me! I’m a bit angry it’s happened to you and Harry, frankly. What sort of mother tries to kill her son’s partner?”

“Beats me,” Draco said with a heavy sigh. “Why can’t I have a mum like Molly? I can’t see her ever poisoning her kids’ significant others.”

“No, I can’t see her doing that either. Bit dramatic, I think. If it makes you feel any better, Molly does see you as one of her children,” Arthur said with a small grin. He paused to sip his tea and said, as an afterthought, “Never thought I’d sit at a table with a Malfoy and be glad for it. Never thought I’d have a pleasant conversation with a Malfoy, for that matter. Sorry, that was rude, wasn’t it?”

“Probably, but I take no offense. I could say the same about you Weasleys, too. This past year has been one of the strangest I’ve ever had. Good, for the most part, but strange.” Draco paused and decided that if Arthur could make a confession at the risk of sounding rude, he could too. “I find it the most weird, though, that your family has accepted me so easily. Being invited to the Burrow for Christmas, having a good relationship with Molly, being able to joke around with Ron… It’s almost like I’m in a Weasley-inspired fever dream.” Arthur let out a booming laugh at that last remark, slapping his knee under the table. Draco smiled, but managed just barely hold back his own laughter. 

“I’m starting to see why you and Harry get along so well,” Arthur said, still grinning hugely. “I’d be surprised if you didn’t feel that way, honestly. In less than a year you’ve been part of a war, gone to prison, been released, lost your home and then your family, found love, acquired an adorable baby—” Arthur directed his grin toward Teddy, then, and Teddy giggled, kicking his legs at the attention. “— and discovered that your mother wanted to kill the love you’d found, right after she’d made up with you for disowning you in the first place. That’s a lot to take in.”

“You forgot to mention the part where I was arrested shortly after finding love, simply because the Daily Prophet seemed to think that my newfound love was only the work of Unforgivables and love potions,” Draco added with a grimace. 

“Right, that,” Arthur said with a sheepish expression. “I suppose I’ve got to apologise for agreeing with that article at first. It’s not an excuse by any means, but after knowing Lucius for as long as I have and hearing stories about you from the boys during school… I guess I just assumed the worst. That was wrong of me. I usually tried to differentiate between you and your father, at least. Well, Molly and I both. She had to remind me more than once when I would get particularly mad at him not to group you and your mother in with my anger toward him. I was frightened you would end up just like him, if I’m perfectly honest. I suppose I ought to have given you more credit for your ability to be autonomous.”

“No hard feelings. I didn’t exactly give anyone reason to believe I was different, did I? For the longest time all I did was spout the same shite he did. Er, stuff, I mean. Sorry.” Hearing Arthur say that he’d tried so hard not to lump him in with his father made Draco’s heart swell, despite Arthur’s open admittance to holding some prejudice against him. Who could really blame him?

“Not exactly, no.” Arthur paused, as though he was considering whether or not he should say something. Thankfully he didn’t comment on Draco’s use of improper language; he was sure Molly would’ve.

“Sickle for your thoughts?” Draco asked, feeling daring all of the sudden. He supposed part of him felt he owed Arthur something for being so willing to sit and talk with him, giving advice as though Draco were a friend rather than a long-time enemy’s son. 

“I was just going to ask you… Why did you choose the side you did? In the war, that is.”

“The wrong side, you mean?” Draco corrected. He’d known for a while now that he’d chosen the wrong side, and not just because ‘his side’ lost; there was so much wrong with the decisions he’d made all his life, the ideals he’d held. If only he’d known then what he knew now. “At first I didn’t exactly have a choice. You know how my parents are, but they’re not completely to blame for my actions. When I got older, I genuinely thought that Voldemort would win. I thought that, even if I didn’t agree with him one hundred percent, it would be ludicrous to change sides knowing that my entire family would be killed when he won. Taking the Mark is one of my biggest regrets, but I knew that it I didn’t it would mean the death of my family, myself included. 

“So I did what I thought I could do to help in small ways, even if I didn’t really contribute to the winning of the war in any way… I still felt the need to do certain things that were probably not in my best interest, or Voldemort’s. After I’d taken the Mark, though, I knew I’d permanently revoked any chance of redemption I could’ve had where the war was concerned— not that I wasn’t too big of a coward to take my chance at redemption when it was offered to me. I thought it too late, by then.” Draco couldn’t pinpoint why he felt so comfortable talking with Arthur about these things, some of the most private of his thoughts that only Harry knew aside from him. It felt good, though, to get it off his chest to someone other than Harry. Talking about it probably had therapeutic qualities that Draco would scoff at if he were actually told he should see a mind healer to talk about these things. 

“I don’t think anyone would’ve trusted you, had you taken Dumbledore’s offer— yes, I do know about that. Harry mentioned it to Ron at one point and I happened to overhear it. But you would’ve been protected, at any rate. Severus would’ve vouched for you.”

“Well, that’s not what ended up happening, much as I wish it had.” Draco began to feel the heaviness of the conversation, suddenly, at the mention of Snape. After what Harry had told him so long ago Draco had a much larger soft spot for the grouchy Potions Master in his heart. Teddy, having no idea how much his comedic relief was necessary at that time, chose that moment to pass wind rather loudly, causing both men to laugh loudly at the sound. 

“For such small creatures they sure do make a lot of noise, don’t they?” Arthur asked, taking Teddy’s hand and shaking it in a weird, but sweet gesture. 

“Very true. I’d better make sure he didn’t just mess himself,” Draco said, ready for privacy after such a topsy turvy day. It wasn’t even ten and yet he’d had a full day’s worth of stress to deal with. 

“I should be getting back home. Molly left me a rather long honey-do list and if I don’t have it done before she gets back… well, you know how these things go.” Draco nodded, even though he had no idea how ‘those things’ went at all. 

“Thank you for the advice, Arthur,” Draco said as the two of them stood up. He adjusted Teddy on his hip so he could receive Arthur’s offered hug. 

“Not at all, I’m happy to give it. Now, I know I’m not Molly and don’t have as much stay-at-home experience, but if you ever need parenting advice from a man’s perspective I’m glad to offer that as well.” Arthur crossed over to the fireplace and was just about to leave when he turned around again, a handful of Floo powder outstretched behind him. “Oh, and if you’d like to fill me in on what happens with your mother I’d be grateful. Have to admit it has me a bit worried…” 

“Absolutely,” Draco said and nodded to Arthur as he resumed going home. 

Something akin to affection grew in Draco’s chest as he registered Arthur’s concern about his situation. When he was alone, however, he felt just as hopeless as he had before he’d received advice. He thought about his tea date with his mother the next day and his nerves became frazzled. It was obvious they wouldn’t be having tea anymore, something Draco regretted badly because of how much he missed afternoon tea with Narcissa. It couldn’t be helped; it wasn’t his fault his mother decided to be a crazy person. He only wished she’d thought twice before being so dramatic in her efforts to get him back. Apparently horrible decision making skills didn’t only come from Lucius’ side of the family… 

“Teddy, what am I to do?” he asked the spit bubble blowing baby on his hip. “You’re going to be walking soon, you’ve got teeth coming in, and you’re learning new words. All I’ve got to say for myself is, ‘well thank Agrippa my mother didn’t go through with it!’” He shook his head before making his way up to the nursery to check Teddy’s nappy and play for a while before nap time was due. He’d write to his mother then, but for now he just wanted to be carefree and read nursery rhymes to distract himself.


	29. Equal

“And after that?” Harry was having a difficult time understanding why Narcissa had done what Draco was saying she’d done. They had no need for a giant fountain for the roof terrace, none at all, and Harry was of the opinion that Narcissa was attempting to buy Draco’s further forgiveness. It didn’t seem to have worked, however, as Draco was just as annoyed by it as Harry was. 

“I tried to tell her we didn’t want it, but she insisted,” Draco sighed. “She said that it was pureblood tradition to offer an extravagant gift after one’s life was threatened by a family member. I don’t remember reading about that tradition in all my years of tutelage, but I did tend to slack when it came to those boring old tomes.”

Harry was also surprised to hear that a younger Draco— the blood supremacist, muggleborn insulting, father quoting arsehole who held his pureblood status above everyone else— shirked his education regarding pureblood traditions, but he supposed he didn’t really know much about Draco’s homelife as a kid. Harry certainly would’ve done his best not to read any book if it were boring, and especially if it circulated around traditions that instructed you give your son’s boyfriend a fucking fountain as atonement. 

“Exactly how big is this fountain…?” Unsure of whether or not he wanted to know, Harry asked the hesitant question out of obligation. 

“Do you want to come and see it?” 

“It’s here already?” Harry gasped. “Don’t we have to approve these things? How did she get a fucking fountain on the terrace?”

“I put it up there, and let me tell you it was not easy,” Draco complained as he began leading the way to the top floor. “I ruined a perfectly good silk shirt by sweating all the way through it.”

“Okay, but how?” 

“Even shrunken down and with several top-notch lightening charms that thing must’ve weighed about fifty kilograms.” Harry couldn’t refrain from imagining Draco trudging up eight flights of stairs carrying a miniature version of whatever monstrosity now sat on their roof, appearing to struggle immensely while holding such a small object. 

“I can’t believe she gave us a fountain. What use have we got for a fountain?”

“We have no use for it, and I’m beginning to question if my mother is suffering from mental deterioration.”

“Like Dementia?” Harry supplied, remembering the one time the Dursleys had been forced to bring him along on their visit to the old folks home one Christmas holiday. It had been one of the scariest things in his life, going there. One old woman was shouting at the top of her lungs, “Help me! I’m in hell!” over and over again. Harry had found it rather funny, though, when an old man nearby her had waved his hands in her direction and yelled, “Ah, shaddap!” They hadn’t gone back the next year, thankfully.

“Sure, Dementia, or any of the other multitudes of senile-related disorders. Perhaps more than one.” Draco paused at the bottom of a rickety old spiral staircase that led to the terrace and turned to face him. “Now don’t get too upset, alright? I had to cast an enlargement charm on the place so the fountain would fit.”

“How big is this thing?” Harry asked again, now worried about whether it would risk falling through the roof and killing them all unexpectedly. 

“Incredibly fucking big,” Draco stressed, speaking slowly. He turned and waved for Harry to follow him up the stairs. 

When they reached the terrace all Harry could do was gape. Incredibly fucking big was an understatement. The roof had been enlarged to about double the size it had been and there was hardly any walking room around the gargantuan marble fountain that sat there imposingly. It had a rounded basin, about a metre deep, and in the centre of it was a statue of a mermaid. From her outstretched hands flowed two spouts of glistening, golden water that fell into the basin below, creating waves that rippled out toward the edge. The setting sun gave it an almost ethereal quality and the marble shone with reflections of pink and orange. 

“Okay, what in the bloody hell…?” Harry managed before he noticed the overly large breasts of said mermaid and burst into laughter. “Why? Just why?” he choked out between chortles. Each of the mermaid’s breasts could fit three of Harry’s heads in them. It was ridiculously out of proportion with the rest of her body and Harry had to wonder what horny bloke or lass had decided to create this thing. 

“I’m really not seeing what’s funny about this,” Draco said, sounding rather disgruntled. 

“Look at her tits!” Harry pointed, in case— by some miracle— Draco didn’t see the meteors protruding perkily from her torso. Her nipples were very long as well, Harry saw, which brought about a new round of guffaws from deep in his belly. 

“Yes, well…” Draco appeared to be uncomfortable and wouldn’t look at the mermaid for too long without turning away with a sneer. “I’m glad you think this is funny, because I’ve half a mind to move out of this place and start fresh with a new house that has no room for terrible gifts like this.” Harry sobered up at Draco’s statement. He sounded serious about it.

“You’d move out over this?”

“Harry, I’d move out regardless. This place is in disrepair. No matter how long we try to fix it up it’s going to keep falling apart. Some things will never be able to be fixed because of the Dark curse residue. Not to mention this place is way too big for us.” 

“Funny, coming from Mr. I-grew-up-in-a-manor-home,” Harry snarked.

“Yeah, well… Even so I can recognize when too much is too much.” Draco looked a bit shame-faced as he went on. “I’ve been wanting to bring it up to you, but I know how much this place means to you. We wouldn’t have to sell it, but… Really, it’s too much work and too much space for the three of us. I’d wager than about ninety percent of this house goes unused. It’s sort of creepy to think what could be lingering in those rooms, actually.” Harry did have to agree with all of what Draco had said, though he was hesitant to admit it at first.

“I guess I never really put too much thought into it, but you’re right. Seven stories is a bit much.” He hesitated before adding, “So you didn’t mean you’d move out by yourself?” Now that Draco had his Malfoy inheritance back Harry had taken him seriously when he’d said he wanted to move out. He could definitely afford to, if his mother could afford to randomly spend upwards of thousands of galleons on a stupid fountain as an apology gift. 

Draco looked aghast at Harry, his mouth popping open in disbelief. “Really? You think I’d leave you because of something my mother did? Harry, love, I hate to break it to you, but you’re stuck with me, fountain-giving mother and all. Not to mention, even if I did leave you it wouldn’t prevent my mother from giving such outlandish gifts. She always has, but I believe she’s outdone herself this time.”

“But you do want to move elsewhere?” Draco nodded, his expression somewhere between nervous and hopeful. 

Harry looked over at the fountain and absorbed this new information. He was getting used to this house, but did he really enjoy living in it? Though he’d done very well to avoid thinking about it, the house still reminded him too much of Sirius and how unhappy he was living here. His parents had done and said awful things to him in this house and this was where he’d been imprisoned when he’d escaped real prison. Not much of an improvement, if you considered how the bad memories would’ve affected Sirius. Not quite as bad as Dementors, but nearly so. 

This had also been the place where Harry had spent a lot of time during the war and that brought back no good memories either, but even the pleasant ones just made him feel sad now. She’d been so hopeful for their future and now he was living that future with someone else, in the house their story sort of began in. 

Harry sighed and shook his head. He didn’t enjoy living here much at all. The only reasons he had to enjoy it were the two people who would be going with him if he did move. Like Draco had pointed out, he wouldn’t have to sell the house, but they didn’t have to live here. 

“I should probably think on it a little longer, but I reckon you’re right,” he decided, and Draco’s nervous frown turned into a beaming smile. Harry suddenly found his arms full of a very exuberant blond man, while his cheeks were attacked and smothered in kisses.

“Thank— you— so— much!” Draco said between those kisses, and Harry began chuckling at his boyfriend’s happiness.

“How long have you been wanting to tell me this?” Harry asked, suddenly realising just how important this had been to Draco. 

“A while,” was the honest answer he received. Draco stopped kissing Harry’s cheeks red and rested his own cheek on Harry’s shoulder, his arms wrapping loosely around him. “Can I start looking for places while you’re at work?”

“Sure, I don’t see why not,” Harry agreed. He knew that if finding a house relied on him it would never get done. He didn’t have time in the day for that sort of thing, but he did have time on the weekends to do walkthroughs of houses Draco picked out. 

“Thank you,” Draco said quietly against Harry’s shoulder, and Harry squeezed him in return. 

 

<>

 

“Let me get this straight,” Hermione said, “Because you’re not really speaking clearly. Draco met with his mother on Friday and she confessed to him— before he even confronted the matter— what she’d told you already, correct?” Harry nodded. “And then he yelled at her?” Harry nodded again. “And then they went to lunch at a five star Italian restaurant— _in Italy_ — and are now as peachy as ever?”

“That’s the gist of it.”

“They took Teddy with them?” Hermione asked, her voice going up a pitch. 

“Yup.”

“To Italy.”

“Yes. Mantua, to be exact.”

“They took a baby to Italy for lunch.”

“I like how _that’s_ the thing you’re concerned about, and not the part where I mentioned the gigantic-titted mermaid fountain waiting, at this moment, to fall through my roof,” Harry said, a bit bewildered. “Or, you know, the fact that we’re moving out of number 12. Are those things not as interesting as taking a baby to Italy? Because _I_ had thought—”

“Yes, yes, those things are very interesting, I’m just curious as to why Draco trusted his mother enough to go such a long distance with her, putting Teddy in danger as well.” Hermione crossed her arms and frowned. “Did he even tell you he was going?”

“Weren’t you the one who said to forgive her?” Harry pointed out. “And yes, he sent his Patronus to me at work to tell me he was leaving for Italy.”

“And you thought, ‘hm, well that’s typical, sounds fine to me?’” Her voice dropped to an amusing level as she mimicked him, rocking her shoulders back and forth with sass as she did it. 

“No, I asked to use my instructor’s office Floo so I could discuss it with him before he left,” Harry drawled defensively in his best impression of Draco. “I’m not stupid.”

“Stupid enough to let them go in the first place!” she shouted, throwing her arms out in exasperation. “ _Really,_ Harry, how could you let them do something so… so perilous?” Harry scoffed.

“It wasn’t perilous. You do realise that Italy has Aurors, too, don’t you? And Draco got top marks in DADA, so I’m not worried about his ability to protect Teddy. Narcissa never tried anything to hurt Draco physically and she never tried to hurt Teddy when she was living with Andromeda, so I don’t see why you’re getting so worked up about this. It was me she was going to kill, not them.”

“You’re calling her Narcissa now? Last time you were here you referred to her as Mrs. Malfoy. Harry, what’s gotten into you?”

“You all asked the same thing when Draco and I first got together and now you’re all happy for us,” he said, getting tired of defending his actions. “He’s actually managed to hurt me in the past and you all got over that once you’d seen how he’d changed, so trust me when I say that I believe Narcissa has the same capabilities as her son.” Hermione looked stunned as she sat across from Harry in McGonagall’s office. “And you suggested I forgive her in the first place,” he muttered petulantly. 

Hermione was very quiet for a while and Harry almost got up to leave in her silence, but after a few minutes she spoke.

“Alright, I trust you,” she said simply, much calmer than before. “I just worry that with your glass-half-full perspective on things you’ll overlook important and potentially dangerous risks.”

“Have I ever…” Harry stopped that thought as soon as it started, realising that, yes, he definitely had done exactly what she’d just described. Many times. “Okay, I’ll give you that one. But this isn’t a war and it isn’t Voldemort I have to deal with anymore. Narcissa isn’t a great person by any means, but she’s his mum and I have to give her a chance.”

“I think you’ve done more than give her a chance already,” Hermione murmured, and it was her turn to sound tetchy. 

“Not really. I’ve never liked her before and therefore haven’t ever given her a chance. What happened between us in the Forbidden Forest doesn’t really count because we both had something to gain by trusting each other at that moment, and we were definitely not concerned with one another.” Hermione sighed, relenting finally.

“Fine. Just consult me every once in a while about the goings on in your life, please.”

“What do you think I’m doing right now?”

“I mean _before_ you make big and poorly-thought-out decisions,” she clarified. “Now, what happened at your interview with Cole?” 

Happy to let the subject drop, Harry explained how his interview went. Cole had been ecstatic to see him and had stuck to the questions Harry permitted him to ask, not even trying to push for more than he was willing to offer. Harry did let him take one picture for the article, since more people would be likely to read it in that case. He normally hated getting pictures taken by the press, but if Draco reacted in the way he had on Saturday night every time he had a picture in the paper Harry thought he might do it more often. That had been a blowjob for the records, Harry was sure. Congratulatory sex really was the best.

Cole had jumped immediately on Harry’s invite to his speech and promised to record everything just as it went, something Harry genuinely trusted he would do. The interview he’d done on Saturday wasn’t due to be printed until Monday morning, but that gave Harry more than enough time to contact the owner of the Three Broomsticks to request their storefront as his venue. 

When Harry had asked Cole if he’d like to do all of Harry’s interviews for the foreseeable future, Cole’s jaw had dropped open and his large blue eyes did too. 

“Do you really mean that?” he’d whispered.

“Absolutely. I trust you more than any other reporter I’ve spoken to since I found out I was famous at eleven years old. You don’t improvise or make me look bad on purpose—”

“Have I made you look bad accidentally?” Cole asked frantically in concern.

“No! Not at all, but… I haven’t had a good history with newspapers, so it’s exciting to know that I have someone who will help me keep up with the public— because we both know it’s too soon for me to go into ‘hiding’— and also not try and make me look like an idiot in the process. I do well enough with that on my own, thanks,” he joked, and watched as Cole started to slowly laugh with him, as though he was unsure if he could or not. 

“I can’t thank you enough, Mr. Potter!” Cole breathed, still recovering from the shock of being asked to be Harry’s sole reporter. 

“Please, call me Harry. Also, I’ve been meaning to ask you, which paper do you work for?”

“The Prophet, but I’m just a small guy still. Nobody’s paid me much mind except when I did that first interview with you, and because I haven’t got another celebrity interview since then everyone thinks that was my fifteen minutes, as they say.” He shook his head, clearly a bit miffed that he was being underestimated and disregarded as a journalist. “I just… I can’t be Skeeter. I can’t make things up about people and claim I’ve got my facts from a ‘mysterious source.’ That’s not how I want to build my career, it’s not why I wanted to be a journalist.” 

“That is exactly why I chose you. I could tell you were different the second I met you and when you published that article I knew I was right to let you do that interview. I can’t think of someone I’d rather be my regular journalist.” Harry returned the beaming smile Cole was giving him. “And I know it’ll benefit you as well. You won’t have to be another Skeeter, and, though I hate to say it, the more you interview me the more other celebrities will want you to interview them, too.”

“Why do you hate to say that? It’s the truth. That’s how fame works, usually. Once one gets in with the ‘big guys’ they usually meet more ‘big guys.’”

“You’re right, I just don’t typically like thinking about being famous… I don’t much like _being_ famous, either. Can’t see a way around it, though, so I have to make the best of what I’ve got.”

Harry and Cole chatted for a while longer and then Harry left to come see Hermione. He figured another physical call was in order, as she’d labelled it, because he missed her and also because he rarely got to see anyone aside from colleagues at work, Draco, and Teddy.

“Alright, then here’s what happens next,” Hermione said after Harry had finished describing his meeting with Cole. She went on for nearly an hour about the plans she’d come up with for the public speech before she had to cut their time short to do more student counseling. 

“You know, I’m getting really tired of listening to these ridiculous problems. Most of the students coming to me are students who are our age or a couple years younger, people who lived through the war and are old enough to understand what happened. They know what it’s like to really suffer in life. It amazes me how quickly people forget how bad things can get. You know, when I started doing this I thought I’d be talking to students about PTSD, anxiety attacks, things like that… No. All I hear from these people is how they’re devastated that So-And-So isn’t talking to them anymore, What’s-Her-Face didn’t ask them to the Yule Ball, and Joe Blow hasn’t returned that borrowed lipstick tube.”

“I’d like to meet this Joe Blow who wears lipstick,” Harry said with a smirk, laughing when Hermione stared at him with no amusement whatsoever. 

“Er… Right. You do realize that that could be taken offensively, don’t you?” Harry suddenly felt very self-conscious, and instantly stopped laughing. He hadn’t even considered it. To his relief, however, Hermione continued with her rant about students. “Honestly, Harry, I’m getting sick of all this. And the paperwork is dreadful and tedious. I don’t know why I decided to do this job shadowing.”

“Because you have the most motivation ever,” Harry said, paraphrasing Draco. 

“Yes, well, I’m about ready to relax for once. I don’t think I was this busy even in third year.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Harry said, thinking back on her full-to-the-max timetable and everything else that happened that year which required the time turner. 

“A bit of an exaggeration, but I really can’t stand this. I’ll finish out the rest of the year because I know how much it helps Minerva, but I’m definitely not accepting that job for Beauxbatons.”

“Really?” Harry asked, surprised. “You seemed really excited about it just last week.”

“Things change, and sometimes they change quickly. Who knows, maybe by the end of the year I’ll love this, but I have a feeling it’s only going to get worse as the summer comes nearer.” She sighed and shook her curly hair. “Anyway, I’ve got to kick you out, sadly.” Hermione glared at the large pile of paperwork in front of her and then glanced miserably up at the clock on the wall over the desk. 

“See you this weekend?”

“Friday. I’m taking a day off classes and job shadowing. I’ll be staying at the Burrow for the weekend. Mind if Ron and I stop by?”

“Not at all! See you then.”

“Bye, Harry.”

 

<>

 

Draco picked up the spilled paper cup of water and with a gentle _Aguamenti_ filled it half way again, handing it back to Teddy. 

“Try again,” he said, trying to sound happy even though he was more nervous than he had been since his first meeting with Narcissa. “You’re doing so well, Teddy. You’re learning very quickly.”

“Ba ba ba ba,” Teddy replied seriously. 

“Precisely,” Draco agreed. Harry came walking quickly into the kitchen, then, distracting Draco from his task teaching Teddy to drink from a cup. 

“How do I look?” he asked, sounding just as nervous as Draco felt. 

“You look ravishing, love.” Draco smiled as he took in Harry’s spiffy outfit. It was one of the several he’d helped pick out and Draco had yet to dislike any of them on Harry.

“So do you,” he breathed in what was hopefully relief. “Are you ready to go? Hermione wants us to be there early.”

“Of course she does. She wouldn’t be Hermione if she didn’t. And yes, we are.” He cast a drying charm on Teddy’s stretch and grow and took him from his highchair. 

Together they Apparated to Hogsmeade and walked to the stage that George, Arthur, and Bill had built together during the week. Draco hoped that they didn’t do it the muggle way like Arthur had suggested; he had a feeling those three, being purebloods without any muggle carpentry experience, could not build a stepping stool, let alone a stage. As they neared the place Harry was to give his speech, Draco could see no nails sticking up or loose boards, so he assumed that George and Bill had talked their father out of it. Now Draco only had to hope that George, with his mischievous ways, hadn’t rigged the stage with some sort of trap or prank. 

“Harry!” Hermione’s voice rang out down the lane from beside the stage. She and two rather large men, as well as a slight of frame girl, stood together in a half-arsed huddle. 

“We’re here, early, just like you said,” Harry said as he adjusted Teddy on his hip and quickened his pace to reach the group. “Who’re they?” he asked when they’d reached the four of them. 

“This is Reggie,” she pointed to the burliest of the three, “And Hector,” she pointed to the second burliest, “And this is Endivia.” She pointed to the smallest of them and the only female. “They’re bodyguards.”

“Perfect,” Harry said as he smiled at the three bodyguards in turn. “Let’s hope we don’t need you today.” Draco hoped the three of them weren’t necessary either, but was grateful to Hermione for thinking of hiring people to protect Harry, should anything go wrong.

“A little action wouldn’t be bad,” Endivia said, a cunning smirk tilting her lip, a raised eyebrow matching her expectant facial expression. 

“I can’t get any injuries. I’ve got a game on Tuesday and I can’t be in St. Mungo’s if I want to be part of it,” Reggie claimed, sounding the exact opposite sort of hopeful that Endivia did.

It struck Draco as funny and ironic that the largest of the three of them was so hesitant to use his brawn, while the smallest of them was prepared for outright battle, by the looks of her. Then again, Draco wasn’t all that surprised; strength could come in more ways than one, and it appeared that Endivia had the sort of strength Draco routed for. He vaguely wondered if she was Slytherin, but then she was pretty eager to jump into a fight, so perhaps Gryffindor. Hector could’ve been from any of the houses, based on the little Draco knew of him, but he decided he would place his private bet and then ask Hermione later to see how accurately he’d guessed. He didn’t say anything at all, appearing the strong and silent type and Draco pegged him as a Ravenclaw or Slytherin.

“Have you practiced?” Hermione asked, regarding Harry sternly. 

“Only about a thousand times. I think Draco could give the speech for me, he’s heard it so often. Actually, Teddy could probably do it, too.”

“Yes, I’ll be glad to get this over with so I don’t have to hear it again,” Draco commented. 

“Good. Speaking of Teddy, where will he be during the speech? He absolutely is not going up there with you, I won’t hear of it.”

“No, obviously he won’t,” Harry said, just as firmly as Hermione. “Draco will have him off stage.”

“That’s not a good idea, either. He’s your partner and therefore a target as well.” She turned and faced the reluctant looking Reggie. “You’ll take him. Since you’ve got a game coming up,” she said with a disapproving frown. 

“I know nothing about infants!” Reggie threw up his hands in annoyance, glancing back and forth between Hermione and Teddy. “What if he gets sick on me?” Probably Slytherin, Draco wagered. 

“That’ll be a lot easier to deal with than homophobic hexes, won’t it?” Hermione countered with. “Remember our bargain.”

“Right. Fine, Granger, but after this I don’t owe you anything.”

Hector continued staring stoically at the small gathering of people that had already formed in the lane while Endivia sniggered beneath her breath. She seemed to notice the crowd as well and put her long, tight curls into a messy looking bun at the top of her head. She’d stopped giggling and sneered meanly at the gatherers. Draco thought he could grow to like the girl; that sneer could rival a Malfoy’s. 

“Alright, Harry, it’s almost time. You should get ready. Hand Teddy over,” Hermione ordered. “Reggie, you’ll be in the shop and if you see any fights break out, this is the address you’ll Apparate with Teddy to.” She handed him a small slip of parchment with neat writing on it and Draco briefly hoped she hadn’t just given him their address without asking permission first. 

“Can I really trust this oaf with my cousin?” Draco asked, his anxiety raising in a split second. Hearing that Teddy would be with a complete stranger was quite different than actually giving Teddy to said complete stranger.

“You can trust him with Teddy,” Hermione responded soothingly, patting his arm for a moment before turning back to Harry. “Well, what are you waiting for? You’re on in five. Where’s Cole?”

“Right here!” came the out of breath reply. Cole Camberwell was sprinting up the lane, weaving between the ever growing crowd and making his way toward the stage. Harry, meanwhile, handed Teddy to Reggie, who looked less than pleased to be holding Teddy. Teddy didn’t look much happier with the ordeal, but he didn’t start crying. If he had, that would’ve been the end of Reggie’s supervision privileges. 

“Excellent, you’ll be over there, Cole.” Hermione pointed to the ground near the top left corner of the stage, a perfect place for snapping pictures of both Harry and the listeners, and close enough that— should the crowd get rowdy— he would be able to hear Harry over anything else. “Draco, would you prefer to be next to Harry for the speech, or would you like to stay with me?”

“I think I’ll choose you,” he said, eyeing the crowd warily. He at least wasn’t completely hated by society anymore for being a Death Eater, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t pick that hatred back up for any reasons they could gather. Being gay in magical Britain was a pretty good reason, statistically. Not only that, but he had the sneaking suspicion that Harry would be better listened to if Draco were not on stage beside him. 

“Okay, then follow me. Two minutes, Harry,” she shot over her shoulder at him where he stood on the stage. 

Following Hermione and trying to match her brisque pace, Draco shot a look at Harry that he hoped expressed his belief in him. From what Draco had heard, Harry was a really good motivational speaker, if he was passionate about what he was saying. Draco was sure that he would do just fine, but he could tell Harry was scared, and for more than one reason. The night before, actually, Harry had worried that being so out in the open would give people a chance to maul him. He’d also worried that too many homophobes would show up and become violent. Draco couldn’t really do much to soothe these fears because they were pretty legitimate, realistically. All he could say was, “you’ll do fine, I’m sure everything will be okay,” which was not Draco’s typical brand of outlook. Normally he was ever the pessimist, but when it came to Harry he found himself looking up more often than not. 

“Alright, it’s starting,” Hermione whispered, standing much closer to Draco than he was comfortable with. “Look at all of them! I didn’t expect this many people to show up.”

“Well, if Harry Potter is there you know everyone else will be,” Draco whispered back.

“Where is the lie?” Hermione deadpanned, giving him an amused look. 

“Thank you all for coming today,” Harry began, his voice magically amplified and sounding strong, to Draco’s surprise. It didn’t waver at all, unlike how his would’ve been had he been the one to give the speech. “It means a lot to me, especially when I have something so important to speak to you all about. 

“As we all know, the war has only freshly ended. Our world has suddenly become a much more hopeful place without the constant presence of genocide and Dark Lords looming over our heads. We have so much to be thankful for, and so many people to be thankful to, for this fact; however, we still have a long way to go before we’ve reached success as far as our laws, and the way our country is run, go. No, I’m not referring to Minister Shacklebolt or any of the laws he has passed since being in office. As for my opinion, and that of the great majority, he is the leader we all need right now, so before anyone gets the impression that I’m going to become a political figurehead, let me explain to you why I’ve come here today to talk to you all. 

“Some of you may know this, already, but there are laws restricting something as beautiful as who one chooses to love. There are laws in place that deny people like you and me the freedom to choose our spouses. The laws I am referring to are those that deny people of the LGBT community to wed. These are not the only laws I’m concerned about. Did you know that it’s legal for a business to refuse to hire someone due to their sexual orientation? Something that no one chooses, and yet it can be used against them. It’s legal for the Aurors to refuse training and employment to someone who is highly qualified, simply because of who they are attracted to. Now, I’m not sure how you all feel about it, but it seems unjust to me. 

“Why would it matter? Why should it matter that someone loves another person who is of the same gender as them? Why should it matter if someone identifies as a different gender than the one they were physically born with? What harm is it creating in our society?” 

And at that point, as Draco had feared, people began responding to his questions. Draco had suggested that Harry rewrite the script so that there were no questions; that way there would be less of a chance for people to respond and answer those questions. At least until they were home and spiteful in privacy. But Harry had explained that he felt it was important that he leave the option up to the people, what they wanted to think about it. He claimed it would make him manipulative if he were to force people into thinking what he wanted them to. He was right, but Draco knew that if he wanted to change the laws, something people were perfectly happy not doing, he needed to manipulate them a bit. Witches and wizards of Britain were traditional, more often than not, and because of that any form of change that wasn’t forced onto them was unwelcome. Harry had called Draco’s preferred tactic insidious and backwards, but Draco knew how politics worked, having a father who involved himself in them constantly. Sometimes being insidious was necessary, if you wanted to change someone’s opinion. 

“What about the children?” One man shouted above the rest. “Are we to let these scum into our shops so they can influence on our children?”

“Yeah! What’ll be next, if we let the fags marry each other? Shall we just let people marry their crups, then?” 

Draco felt his throat constrict. His breathing became heavy and suddenly he couldn’t hear anything other than a loud whooshing in his ears. His vision tunneled and he felt his fingernails digging cuts into the palms of his hands. No thoughts went through his head, no response came from his lips to these horrendous insults to himself and others who weren’t ‘straight and perfect.’ Just whooshing and the sight of Harry’s polished shoes on the stage. Nothing else. 

“Draco?” came a soft voice. “Draco, can you hear me?” 

Suddenly everything went back to normal and he could hear that the crowd had been silenced, though he couldn’t register why. Harry was still speaking, albeit more passionately than he had been originally. 

“Draco.” His head whipped around and he saw Hermione looking at him in concern. “Are you alright? Do you want to leave?”

“No, I’m fine,” he gritted through clenched teeth. Hermione shook her head at him in disbelief, but linked her arm in his and tugged him closer to her. As much as he disliked physical contact most of the time, he needed the comfort Hermione was offering. 

“Harry’s doing the right thing,” she said softly. “Thank you for pointing him in this direction. I never realised how horribly people thought of LGBT people.”

“It’s easy to overlook the plights of the oppressed when you’re not being oppressed along with them,” Draco muttered, hating how much his voice sounded like his father’s when he was upset. Just to ease his discomfort he added, “It’s like how I was in school. I’m a pureblood, so I never had to think very hard about what life was like for muggleborns during the war.” 

“You really have changed,” Hermione whispered. She had a stunned look in her eye and was avoiding his gaze, but she hadn’t unhooked her arm from his, Draco noticed. He thought he saw a hint of a smile somewhere through her wild hair. 

“Hermione, I’m sorry for everything,” Draco said quietly, his shoulders stiffening with his expectation of her rebuff. “You’re not a mudblood.”

“I know.” Hermione looked back at him again with wide, nut coloured eyes which held nothing but sincerity. “I forgive you.” Draco closed his eyes and let that sink in. One of his bigger regrets was ever making Hermione feel like less than she was. He’d always been jealous of her intellect, her confidence in the face of adversity, and her ability to be the bigger person in situations involving bullying from his end. He’d called her a mudblood so many times… Now that he really understood how close that was to the word he’d been labelled as, the one Harry was now speaking against, he knew he had fucked up. He’d known before, of course, but it was really hitting home at that precise moment.

She’d forgiven him, though. She’d looked him in the eye and pardoned him, and his head felt loads lighter as he absorbed the sweet taste of forgiveness. 

“This is why we need to band together and change our laws for the better,” Harry was saying. Finding it calming to listen to Harry’s voice, Draco looked to his lover and let himself be sucked back into the intensity of his performance. “Hatred is a weed in our garden that will continue to overtake the environment if not removed with love.” That was a rather corny bit that Draco didn’t really like, but Harry said it reminded him of Dumbledore and that he wanted to keep it. “It takes so much effort to hate something; you have to care a lot about something in order to feel so strongly about it. It takes much less effort to love. It’s easy. It’s beneficial to you and others. When statements like, ‘They’re not like us,’ and, ‘It’s an act against nature,’ come from peoples’ mouths, do you know what I’m reminded of?” He paused. Draco _truly_ liked this part. “Voldemort,” Harry said darkly. “Because he said things like that about muggleborns and half-bloods. Only it wasn’t ‘scum,’ or ‘faggot,’ it was ‘blood traitor,’ and ‘mudblood.’ What’s the effect that these toxic terms have? Making a group of people feel less worthy of existence. Do any of you know what faggot means?”

“A fag’s a cigarette, isn’t it?” Someone piped up.

“Well, yes, but ‘faggot’ has its own meaning.” Harry paused, apparently waiting for someone else to answer his question. Just as he opened his mouth to supply the answer, someone in the crowd actually raised their hand. It was a girl with tears in her eyes and quivering lips. Harry pointed to her.

“You, what does it mean?”

“Kindling for a fire.” The girl was barely audible, though the congregation was silent around her. Draco could hear the emotion in her voice and was afraid he would join her in her tears if he looked at her for any longer. 

“Thank you,” Harry said gently. “For anyone who didn’t hear her, she said ‘kindling for a fire.’ And when used in reference to a person… What are you saying then? That they’re not worth more than being used to light your Floo connection? Mudblood, faggot… These words are as powerful as each other, though they mean different things. Would any of you refer to your neighbor as a mudblood, after all Voldemort did?” There was a lot of murmuring throughout the large group, most of them sounded as if they were muttering ‘no,’ and ‘of course not.’ 

“Then why would you use the other word? Both are just as horrible as the other. Do you understand what I mean now? This sort of bigotry is synonymous with the bigotry that ended the lives of people we love, people we know, people who had done nothing but be born into the ‘wrong’ families, the ‘inferior’ bloodlines. What choice did they have? And what choice do people of the LGBT lot have? It is the same principal, and to even attempt to deny it… I won’t stand for it.

“These laws need to change, and I will be doing everything in my power to start changing them. I know that not everyone here truly believes that being gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, or otherwise, is a negative thing. I know for a fact that there are people here who belong to the LGBT group. You have a voice. You have the right to take charge and change the laws just as much as I do, just as much as anyone else does. Don’t let anyone degrade you, or try to tell you that you mean less than they do because they copulate with the opposite sex and feel like the same gender as their anatomy suggests. You are important and you deserve the same rights as everyone else. 

“My name is Harry Potter. I am bisexual. I am proud.”

He stepped away from the lectern and began to walk off stage when someone in the crowd shouted, “My name is Timothy Segrid! I am gay! I am proud!” Harry turned around in surprise and looked out into the sea of people, obviously trying to find who’d shouted.

“My name is Brita Jenkins! I am bisexual! I am proud!”

“— Ronnie Nickels! Proud to be trans!”

“Gay!”

“Lesbian!”

“I don’t even fucking like sex!”

“Lesbian and proud!”

“Gary Pulaski!”

“Annabell!”

“Michael!”

“Courtney!”

“Izzy!”

“Grant!”

Draco’s head swiveled around, his eyes trying to find his friend at the sound of her name and, sure enough, there was Izzy Turpentine in the midst of the now empowered looking group of people. Nearby her stood Grant, the woman who had not only aided him in gaining a better reputation, but also the woman who had rebelled against society’s restrictions blatantly. Not everyone looked as ardent and energetic, but Draco could see that there had been far more people of the LGBT community there than they’d originally assumed there would be. It was a surprise to see Izzy in the group, but it did make Draco happy to know that she at least wouldn’t decide to stop being his friend over his sexual orientation. 

Looking back up at the stage, Draco could see that Harry was shocked to stillness near the steps down. He seemed so taken aback that anyone was participating in his speech and agreeing with him so vehemently. Seeing just how many people were on their side of things was inspiring to Draco, and if he was accurately judging the look on Harry’s face it inspired him as well. As if he could feel Draco’s eyes on him, Harry turned to look at him and Draco found his eyes locked on those green ones. Harry mouthed the words ‘I love you,’ and Draco heard himself gasp. 

“I love you too,” Draco said back, knowing Harry wouldn’t hear him over the shouting masses. Harry jogged off the steps and straight to Draco, who was only half aware of Hermione slipping her arm out of his to make way for Harry slamming into him full force. 

“I love you,” he said again into Draco’s ear. “I love you.”

“I know,” Draco said, clutching Harry to him as tightly as he could. The sound of the crowd shouting their respective sexualities and pride made his heart swell to an uncomfortable size. “I love you too.” Their embrace was cut short by Hermione tugging on Draco’s sleeve.

“Look!” she cried, pointing back to the group of speech attendees. 

They both turned to see that many people in the crowd were now hugging and kissing each other, people of the same sex and of the opposite alike. Some were simply holding each other as they cried into one another’s shoulders, others were kissing passionately and holding on to their partners for dear life, it seemed. There were others, still, who were simply cheering and shouting for joy. The disgruntled people who were taking no part in the sudden festivities were now looking on in awe. Well, some of them. There were more than a handful who looked outraged to be witnessing such a display of love between people of the same sex, or in general. 

Then, distracting everyone all at once, came a huge bang and fireworks began exploding in the sky above the stores. Harry and Draco both turned to look at each other and said, “George,” which pretty well summed it up. 

Somehow, and Draco fully intended to ask how he’d managed to do it, George had arranged for a metric arse tonne of fireworks to go off at just the right time. Everyone in the area stopped snogging and cheering to watch the colourful display as bang after bang sounded. 

“I’d better go get Teddy,” Hermione yelled above the din, and Transfigured a muggle pen into a pair of ear muffs. “He mentioned a surprise, but I didn’t know it would be so loud.”

Harry and Draco laughed together and watched as she wandered into the Three Broomsticks to collect Teddy. When Harry’s hand slipped into Draco’s he felt at peace, though he’d felt pretty close to that to begin with since the speech had ended. It seemed the perfect end to an incredible day, but what topped it off was when the fireworks formed the words ‘FRED WAS GAY!’ at the very end.


	30. St. Mungo's

It was too good to be true, obviously. It always was. There was this bothersome fear in Harry’s chest all through the speech and the day leading up to it. He’d had this feeling like something was going to go wrong, only he didn’t know if it was the speech itself, the attendees, or something more drastic. 

Hermione had offered to take Teddy back to the Burrow and told Harry and Draco not to be too long, since Molly and Arthur had planned a special dinner for them as congratulations. Well, they’d certainly missed that, hadn’t they? 

As soon as Hermione had Apparated away with Teddy, Harry had turned to look at Draco only to find that it wasn’t Draco standing next to him any longer, but someone he didn’t know at all. A man with a large handlebar mustache looked him straight in the eye and said, “You’re perpetuating disease and filth! You, Harry Potter, are no saviour of mine!” Then he’d flicked his hidden wand so quickly that Harry had had no time to react. When he’d awoken he was within four white walls on a stiff bed with just as comfortable white sheets. 

“Ah, you’re awake,” a mediwitch said as she strolled into the room, looking much more spirited than Harry felt. The moment he’d opened his eyes he had a throbbing pain radiating throughout his entire body. “You’re at St. Mungo’s. I’m Healer Alden and my favourite colour is green. How are you feeling?”

“Shite,” Harry said simply, feeling in no mood to put a front up for the staff. 

“I’d imagine you do,” she said with a giggle. “You’re Harry Potter, remember?”

“Er… yes?” His throat felt dryer than Hagrid’s biscuits and he was in no mood for jokes about the danger he was constantly in. “Water, please.”

“Right, my apologies.” Healer Alden summoned a paper cup that matched the decor splendidly— white— and filled it with water from her wand. 

“You do remember that you’re Harry Potter, correct?” She responded with a mildly concerned look that vanished with the nod of Harry’s head from behind his cup. “Good. I had to be sure. It looks like your attacker used Ulcus Suffocantum, which is basically a combination of the Blood Boiling Curse and the Choking Curse. Thankfully whoever created this curse was a poor inventor, because those two combined cancel out the intensity of each other, for the most part. Took us ages to figure out the incantation used. It’s a new one, apparently, because I’ve never heard of it and I thought I’d seen everything. You hit your head pretty hard when you landed, from what Mr. Malfoy told us. In fact, we had to mend your head but it’s still a bit fragile back there, so be careful washing your hair for a while. Do me a favor and tell me three major facts about your life.” 

“I defeated Voldemort, I live with my boyfriend Draco Malfoy, we share guardianship over Teddy Lupin. How long ago did I get here?” He really wished it didn’t feel as though he were speaking with tacks in his throat.

“About thirty hours ago.” Taking the clipboard that was sitting on his bedside table, she made a few notes. “Alright, so no major memory loss. Healer Dales will be here in a bit to do a full diagnostic screening, of course. You’re lucky the curse didn’t hit you a bit lower or your heart would’ve stopped. So that’s two strikes on the Potter’s Lucky to be Alive And Fully Intact Part II, Post War list.” She paused to take his empty cup from him and poured a thick, brown potion that she’d pulled from her pocket into it. “Drink up, it’s probably the only thing that’ll make your throat feel better. He got you square in the jugular. I’m honestly surprised you’re speaking at all. Mr. Malfoy said you’d stopped breathing, but the counter to the Choking Curse is pretty well known, lucky you. He got you breathing again in no time and brought you straight here. You’re lucky, yet again, he was so close by when it happened. Your parents should’ve named you Felix, with all the luck you’ve got.”

“It hurts to talk,” Harry told her honestly in his rasping voice. He took the proffered paper cup and gulped its contents, not minding that it tasted like rancid milk because it really did soothe his throat. “Where’s Draco now? Can I see him?” His voice sounded better, too, and speaking wasn’t quite so painful 

“Soon enough, dear,” she said calmly as she used the same cup to pour yet another potion in, this time tan rather than brown. “This is to heal any internal bleeding that may be occuring still. We’ve given you a few of these, but we’d like to be sure it’s stopped completely.” He drank the second potion only to be given a third. “And Blood Replenishing Potion, of course.”

“Can I please see Draco?” he asked again. He knew that Draco would be frantic, wondering how he was doing and probably pacing the halls waiting to be told he could finally visit.

“Just as soon as Healer Dales has done your diagnostics screening,” she said with an understanding smile. “He’s been in already to see you, so he knows you’re stable. He’s actually gone to drop Teddy off with a relative, so he’s not here at the moment.”

“Oh,” Harry muttered, disappointed that Draco had left. He was glad, however, that Draco was at least doing something other than pacing back and forth in the waiting room. “Okay.”

“Rest, it’ll help you heal quicker. Before I go, mind telling me what my name is again?”

“Healer Alden,” Harry replied easily. She grinned, satisfied that he’d remembered.

“What’s my favourite colour?” 

That one took Harry a few seconds, but then he did recall the seemingly useless bit of information that she’d imparted with him at the start of their conversation. “Green.”

“Short term seems to be in order as well. My, my, how lucky you are.”

Harry was glad she’d gone. Sure, she was better than some of the other healers— they liked to fawn over him and were easily distracted from treating his injuries— but he really was sick of being told how lucky he was. He already knew. He took the quiet time to reflect on the last moments before he’d lost consciousness. If he could keep the man’s face in the forefront of his mind he could probably give his description to the Aurors and have him arrested. Hell, he might be arrested already. There were too many people there for him to have gone unnoticed. Then again, there had been fireworks, so maybe they had all been too distracted to notice.

Harry’s introspection was interrupted by the door to his room opening once more, admitting a short man who looked like the male version of Umbridge. Harry wondered if they were related in some way, and hoped that if they were that this person didn’t have the same mannerisms as she did. He looked at the healer warily as the man smiled at him and approached the bed.

“Glad to see you’re awake, Mr. Potter,” Healer Dales said as he picked up the clipboard Healer Alden had been writing on. “Good, good, good,” he mumbled as he read her notes. Looking back up at Harry, he asked, “You’re feeling…?”

“Better than I did when I first woke up. Healer Alden gave me a number of potions.”

“Yes, she made note of that as well,” he said as he nodded. “What would you rate your pain on a scale of one to ten, one being barely there and ten being ‘kill me now?’” Harry wondered if there was a stipulation to becoming a healer, that they all needed naturally morbid senses of humour to pass their schooling.

“Probably a four.” Healer Dales made another note on the clipboard, then set it down and took his wand from his sleeve.

“If you could, please hold your arms out over the edge of the bed and spread your legs as well.” 

Harry did as he was told and watched as the diagnostics spell wrapped around him. He was taken back to the day he and Draco had come here to get Teddy and realised he hadn’t written to Andromeda in a very long time. Guilt seeped into his already bad mood, bringing it down to another level of abysmal.

“Looks like your internal bleeding has completely ceased, our healing charms are holding up nicely, and your throat is doing much, much better. You should be able to leave today, at some point.”

“Really?” Harry asked hopefully.

“Yes,” Healer Dales said with an odd sounding chuckle. “Mr. Malfoy asked me to inform you that he’s gone to bring Teddy to Molly Weasley’s house and he’ll be back within the hour. He also asked me to keep you awake, but I could promise no such thing. Sleep does wonders for the healing process, you know.”

“Healer Alden told me the same thing,” Harry said. He didn’t feel tired at all, but when Healer Dales left he did find himself drifting off. 

 

<>

 

It had been over forty five minutes since Draco had returned to the hospital and yet no one was letting him in to see Harry. The bored looking receptionist had told him he’d gone back to sleep and shouldn’t be woken early because sleeping was so good for him at the moment. Draco understood this— really he did— but all he could think about since the speech was the way Harry had looked as he lay on the ground behind the group of people who had come to hear him, a halo of blood spreading around his head and his eyes bulging. His face had begun to turn colours and he was choking, but Draco couldn’t get whatever was lodged in his throat to get out. It had taken him too long to realise that it wasn’t a physical thing Harry was choking on, but the Choking Curse, or some variation of it. The healers said otherwise and had told Draco he’d figured it out just in the knick of time, but that didn’t prevent him from feeling he could’ve done better, sooner.

For longer than Draco could comprehend, but probably a much shorter time than he realised, he thought he was going to lose Harry. He’d truly looked as though he was a goner. He probably would’ve been, had Draco not thought to bring him to St. Mungo’s immediately after countering the Choking Curse. At least, that’s what Healer Dales had told him.

Harry had required mending at the back of his head, some mild reconstruction to his skull, and internal bleeding prevention. His arm had been dislocated with the force of the curse that struck him, but that was probably the least worrisome thing out of all Harry’s injuries. Healer Dales had told him that Harry may need physical therapy to strengthen the muscles keeping his shoulder from dislocating again, but that otherwise he would heal just fine with rest and lots of water.

Draco was becoming incredibly impatient, even with the news of Harry’s improved condition. The last time he’d seen his unconscious lover his eyes couldn’t stop watering and even Teddy had figured something was wrong. He’d begun whimpering at the sight of Harry in the hospital bed and that was when Draco had decided to take him elsewhere. Really, a hospital was no place for a baby. 

“Draco?” He spun around at the sound of his mother’s voice in the waiting room.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, surprise tinting his voice.

“I’ve received a letter about Andromeda’s condition, being one of her only relatives,” Narcissa explained. “It seems she will live after all.”

“What?! Why wasn’t I informed? I’m taking care of her grandson, why wouldn’t they tell me?”

“We were actually just about to give you this letter, Mr. Malfoy.” Into the waiting room came Healer Julian, the man who’d explained to them about Andromeda when she’d first fallen sick and had treated her this whole time. He held a letter in his hand and offered it to Draco. “Andromeda has been on the mend for quite a while, but we wanted to be sure it wasn’t a false improvement before we contacted you about it,” he explained.

“So, wait… She’s not dying?” Draco asked, his voice sounding restricted.

“As far as we can tell— and we’ve checked more times than I could possibly count— she is not dying. In fact, her pustules are nearly gone. We have to wait until they’ve completely gone and then give her physical rehabilitation to release her completely, but once the pustules are gone she can begin outpatient treatment.”

Draco felt his fear and agitation about not being able to see Harry subside a bit as it was replaced with the thick, powerful relief about Andromeda’s condition. Narcissa came to stand beside him and placed a comforting hand on his back, something he couldn’t recall her ever doing in public before. It was welcome, regardless of anything else that had happened between them and the strangeness of her action.

“May we see my sister?” she asked the healer kindly.

“I’m afraid not,” he replied with regret. “As long as she’s got the pustules we’re afraid she may be contagious. All the scans have come back saying she isn’t, but no healer or study of the disease can explain how Spattergroit is contracted. The pustules, for all we know, could contain the virus itself, so we can’t take any chances no matter what her scans tell us.”

“Thank you for your honestly, Healer,” Narcissa replied with a nod of her head.

“Of course, Mrs. Malfoy. The letter, Mr. Malfoy, contains all the information you could want about Mrs. Tonks’ current condition and what we expect in the very near future.”

“How near?” Draco asked, recovering a bit from the shock of the huge revelation that his aunt was no longer pronounced dying.

“Well, the letter could tell you, but since I’m right here… We have estimated about two or three weeks before she’s pustule-free, at the rate their going now.”

“And what will this mean for Harry, Teddy and me?” Sudden realisation struck and Draco feared that with Andromeda’s recovery he and Harry would lose their new ward. Of course, the situation that would bring that about would be a miracle; it wasn’t everyday that people lived to tell the tale of Spattergroit. But it still made Draco feel disappointed. He was happy with Teddy, he enjoyed his small companion. It would be just the way things went, though, that something so good could happen and then something miserable would follow close behind. The speech and Harry’s hospitalization being a prime example in recent times.

“I’m just a healer, Mr. Malfoy,” Julian explained. “It would be up to Mrs. Tonks what she’d like to do, whether she’d like sole custody back. She’s able to write again, though that’s also a new development, so maybe you should ask her yourself.”

Draco nodded and watched as the healer walked through the doors to the hospital rooms beyond. Narcissa continued stroking small circles between his shoulder blades and he leaned into her for comfort.

“I don’t want to lose Teddy,” he said quietly, “But I’m so thankful Andromeda will survive.”

“You’re so young, Draco. Would it truly be so bad to have the freedom most eighteen-year-olds have? I know you love Teddy, but certainly it would make it much easier on you if Annie were his caretaker.” Draco knew his mother was just trying to be comforting, but he still hated what she was saying. He took a deep breath and controlled his overwrought emotions. 

“I’m not the same as most eighteen-year-olds,” he told her. “Even without Teddy I don’t think I’d be able to go out and drink with friends without being attacked by someone who won’t let my past go.”

“That may be true, but you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. One day you and Harry may want a child of your own.” _Teddy already feels like my child,_ Draco thought.

“And how would we go about doing that? You do realise neither of us has a uterus. Or any of the other reproductive organs required by the opposite sex to create a baby.” Narcissa looked at him as though he were being a difficult child.

“Adoption, Draco. Or a surrogate child. People have done this before, you and Harry could, too.” But Draco didn’t want to. He wanted Teddy, the child he’d already come to think of as almost his own, the child he’d already grown to love more than most people.

“Right,” Draco said, not wanting to continue the conversation or argue about it.

“You’ve yet to explain why you are here,” Narcissa pointed out, changing the topic. “Did something happen?”

“Harry was attacked last night after his speech,” he said, and the mean glare he’d worn every time he thought of the event returned to his face. “He was hospitalised. I’m waiting to be able to see him. I would go and see Aunt Andromeda, but, well…”

“Yes, it seems we’ll both have to wait for that.” Narcissa sounded disappointed, though Draco was under the impression she still wanted very little to do with her sister. She’d even referred to her by a nickname that Draco had never heard before, which was unusual on its own and implied the opposite.

“Why do you want to see her?” he asked, hoping she would not evade him. 

“Let’s sit and talk, shall we? There’s a cafeteria downstairs that serves the most delicious lemon meringue pie.”

“Better than yours?” he asked as they began walking.

“I’m not one to admit my shortcomings, but since that seems to be all I’m doing lately, yes it is. Whoever they have cooking here has obviously stumbled on a very old recipe. They’re practically giving it away, for the price they’re charging, too. It should be considered a crime.”

They talked of pie recipes and prices, a perfect no-man’s-land topic of conversation, all the way to the cafeteria. When they got there Narcissa purchased a slice of pie for each of them, as well as a double shot cappuccino for Draco and a skim latte for herself. Together they sat at a two-seater near one of the large windows and ate their food in a convivial quiet. Only when they’d finished their pie and all moans of deliciousness ceased did Narcissa finally answer Draco’s question. 

“I’ve done more thinking,” she said with no preamble. “Our family has dwindled. Our views were incorrect to begin with. The reasons for my distancing our family from Annie are now, in my mind, childish and disturbing. If I’d come to this conclusion years ago, perhaps we would not have suffered the way we have. Some lessons are learned the difficult way, and I’ve learned recently that no amount of hatred or cruelty will keep my family together.”

“That seems like common sense to me,” Draco muttered without really meaning to say anything at all. 

“Doesn’t it?” Narcissa smiled a bitter smile, which Draco thought was directed at herself more than at his comment. “I’d like to know my sister again. We used to be so close as children, but as the first war instigated by the Dark Lord loomed closer and sides were forced to be taken… Well, we were not so close after that. Once she married I felt it was a disgrace to our pure family line. How stupid I was. 

“Now that I know this, I can’t let our distance continue. I do realise that she may not ever forgive me fully for the things I’ve said to her, or the things I’ve done. It is something I have known since I began this journey of strengthening my family ties; however, I feel it is important. I miss my sister. She’s probably the sanest of all of us and at this point in my life I could use some sanity. I think we all could.”

Draco sipped his cappuccino as he reflected on his mother’s newfound desire to reconnect with her only living sibling. He remembered how apprehensive he’d been to connect with his aunt and how well it had gone for him once he’d finally gathered enough courage to do so. He had a feeling that Andromeda wouldn’t react the same way to Narcissa’s wish to be close to her, but then she had just suffered through a disease that nobody tended to live through, so maybe she desired family as well. In fact, the more Draco thought about it the more he was sure she would want all the family she could get, having lost most of hers already and nearly died herself. 

“This all came to you through reconnecting with me, didn’t it?” he asked bluntly.

“That, and having lost you in the first place due to nothing but my own actions. I’d lost my husband to war and prison, I’d lost my other sister to that same war— though I have to admit I’m… somewhat glad to see her gone, as much as I hate to say it— and I’d lost my son due to my pettiness and bigotry. I’ve learned many hard truths in the time it’s taken me to realise how wrong I’ve been all these years and I don’t intend to sit idly by with the knowledge I now have.”

“I’m proud of you.” Narcissa’s eyebrows raised a fraction at Draco’s statement. “I never thought I’d find common ground with you after I started to realise how horrible we were. I feel relieved to know that you’re changing.”

“It’s very strange, hearing my child say something to me that should be coming from my mouth.” She picked up her latte and took a long, silent sip, keeping eye contact with him all the while. 

“Imagine how strange this is for me, hearing my bigoted mother speak of having ideals opposite to what she raised me thinking,” Draco retorted, not unkindly. “It’s a good thing. Harry will be glad to know.”

“Have you seen him since the accident?”

“It was no accident, that arsehole hurt him on purpose.” Narcissa cleared her throat and smirked.

“Have you seen Harry since that arsehole hurt him on purpose?” Draco had chosen the absolute worst time to sip from his cup and wound up spitting cappuccino all down the front of his shirt.

“Did you just say arsehole?” he asked, astounded at his mother’s brash language. Narcissa cast a cleaning and drying charm on his shirt. “In public!”

“If you can do it I don’t see why I shouldn’t,” she said, the playful smirk still in place on her lips. 

“But… but you’ve never used that sort of language before.” Narcissa giggled at his shock and sipped her latte again. “It sounds so wrong, coming from you.”

“You’ve got a bit of foam on your upper lip, dear.”

“No, don’t change the subject, I just heard you swear for the first time in my life and I want an explanation,” he laughed as he licked the foam from his lip.

“I’ve sworn once or twice before,” she said, sounding mysterious. “With so many changes taking place in my life, I don’t see why I shouldn’t loosen up a bit. I have been somewhat of a… what’s the saying? Ah, yes, an ‘uppity bitch.’” Draco’s eyes could’ve popped out of his head at that very moment. “Or, as your father’s friends in school used to say, a cold hearted bitch. Ice queen was a kinder term they used, and I have to admit to liking that one. Of course I’d never tell them such a thing.” Draco shook his head slowly, doing his best not to let his jaw hang open like an idiot.

“I’m not sure how to feel about this,” he said, and counted in his head for a moment. “That’s three times you swore, just now, after my entire life never hearing you use bad language.”

“You’ll get used to it if I can get used to your use of these words,” she told him simply. “Now, shall we go and see how your Harry is doing?” Draco nodded, still not sure what to think of the dramatic changes taking place in his mother. Perhaps she was going through some sort of mid-life crisis. That was the only logical explanation Draco could come up with as they made their way up to the first floor, where Harry’s room was. 

“Mr. Malfoy, I was told to tell you that Mr. Potter is awake again,” said the receptionist once he’d entered the room. “You’ve still got your visitor’s pass?” Draco replied in the affirmative and was admitted through the warded doors to the hospital rooms.

“Will I be welcome at his bedside?” Narcissa enquired. 

“I don’t know, but I guess we’ll find out.” Draco side-eyed her to gauge how she felt about accompanying him to visit his boyfriend. “You’re not worried about him, are you?”

“Not terribly, but I do hope he heals quickly,” she told him honestly. That was yet another surprise for Draco; his mother had never expressed her concern, or any of her emotions, so readily and honestly. It usually took either decoding, coaxing, or drink to get her to open up, if she did at all. 

They reached Harry’s room and Draco knocked lightly before opening the door. Harry was sitting up in bed, his back against the headboard, with a tray of food over his thighs. Draco crossed the room quickly and cupped Harry’s face, pressing his lips to Harry’s soft ones in earnestness that could almost count as desperation. As they kissed, Draco thought he heard his mother clear her throat uncomfortably, but he couldn’t quite manage to care what she thought of their affection; he was just glad to see Harry alive.

“You could’ve let me swallow my food first,” Harry said after Draco had stepped back to take a closer look at his boyfriend. “I missed you, too.”

“I can handle a mouthful of food pressed against mine if it means I can kiss you at all,” Draco snapped. He wasn’t upset with Harry, but concerned, and he had a habit of translating his concern into verbal strikes. Thankfully Harry understood this and merely grinned back, a piece of spinach stuck in his front teeth that made Draco think twice about kissing him while eating. “How are you?”

“Much better. I can swallow without wanting to tear my throat out.”

“How about your head?” Draco gently pulled Harry’s head away from the wall and inspected the area where it was mended. It looked clean and there was no bleeding, so he took that as a good sign. 

“There’s a bit of throbbing, but I haven’t lost any major memories. I don’t think I’ve lost any memories at all, but it’s hard to know for sure.” Harry glanced over Draco’s shoulder and must’ve seen Narcissa because he said, “Hi.”

“Hello, Harry,” Narcissa replied politely. “I’m glad to see you’re doing well. Draco told me what happened after your speech.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll be hiring better security next time,” he grumbled. “And more of it.”

“Next time?” Draco asked. “You’re already planning another speech after this?”

“It’s not like one speech is going to get the laws changed. I have to keep doing this, even if it does put me at risk. I’ve got to write a petition next.” Draco just shook his head in exasperation. He couldn’t disagree with Harry, but so soon after he was attacked it made Draco feel like Harry didn’t care that he was in constant danger. After what he’d gone through, though, Draco could understand why this looked like small potatoes by comparison. 

“Draco, are you going to share the news of your aunt with Harry?” Narcissa asked from the end of the bed. 

“What’s wrong with Andromeda?” Harry asked, setting his fork down and taking Draco’s hand.

“Actually, there’s nothing wrong with her. Well, almost nothing. She’s nearly Spattergroit-free. I was just told today by her healer, Julian. He gave me this,” Draco said as he pulled the letter from his pocket. 

Waiting patiently for Harry to read the long letter, Draco held his hand tightly and eyed the hospital food to make sure there was nothing Harry didn’t like to eat in his meal. He found that, surprisingly, the food didn’t look all that bad and there were no green beans in sight. Harry had always hated green beans, apparently, but it was a recent discovery to Draco.

“So she’ll be released soon! That’s excellent! Draco, she’s not dying!” Draco smiled, though there was a hint of sadness there and he knew it.

“I know, I’ve already been filled in,” he reminded Harry. 

“Right, obviously. Why don’t you seem very excited about it?”

“I am! I just… There’s a lot to think about now we know that she’s going to live. I’m very excited that she’s not dying, and I can’t wait to be able to see her again.” Harry stared at him for a few moments and Draco could see the exact moment when Harry gathered his hidden meaning.

“Oh.”

“Yes.” Draco sighed. “But we’ll think about that later, won’t we? You shouldn’t be worried about anything right now, you should be celebrating the fact that your speech was a huge success and you weren’t killed afterward.”

“Was it? Because I sort of feel like I botched it, right toward the end.” Harry was being serious, but Draco couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his mouth.

“It was a success, yes.” He took that morning’s rolled up _Prophet_ from his back pocket and handed it over to Harry with a proud grin.

 

<>

 

_Harry Potter Fights for Equality!_

 

Harry read the title of Cole’s front page article and smiled at the paper in his hands before he looked down at the picture accompanying the title. It was one of him standing in the middle of the stage in his suit trousers and braces, stretching a beseeching hand out toward the crowd and pleading with his eyes as his mouth moved along with his speech. It was a very good picture, Harry admitted to himself. 

 

_Last night, in Hogsmeade, history was made, yet again, by Harry Potter as he gave a compelling speech on the imbalances regarding the laws in place for people belonging to the LGBT community. With eloquence and determination in proportionate measures, Potter explained to his audience that there is little difference between different kinds of bigotry, and that we all play a part in changing the future. Injustice affects every one of us, even those of us not being oppressed by it, was part of the message he sent._

 

Cole went on to quote the better parts of Harry’s speech from the night before and briefed those who weren’t there that night on what a powerful display he’d made. The second, third, and fourth pages were dedicated to the pictures he’d taken, and Harry could see why he’d made front page news as well as being given half of the newspaper to his photos. 

Harry had rarely seen wizard photos in colour in the paper, but it did seem it was possible to take and print them, because Cole had done just that with several of the moving images. Not all were in colour, only the ones that stood out among the rest. Harry had to hand it to Cole; he was a brilliant photographer. He had published two pictures of Harry giving his speech, which was the proper amount, since it probably all looked similar from shot to shot. Cole had also taken one of a disgruntled man in the crowd. He was shouting and Harry could see the strings of spit between his top and bottom rows of teeth. The anger in his eyes was palpable, and underneath the photo Cole had written the caption, “The face of a man stuck in his harmful ways.”

The next photo was of the audience raising their hands in the air and shouting their names and respective sexualities and sexes. Harry remembered how happy, yet fierce, they’d all looked, but seeing it captured in black and white made it somehow more beautiful. After that picture was one of the massive snogging fest that had come right after the shouting. That caption read, “A show of love to combat hatred and ignorance.” 

The second to last picture was of George’s fireworks, and Harry was thankful and simultaneously disappointed that Cole hadn’t captured the very last bit of the firework show. It was probably for the best anyway; Harry didn’t think George had done it for fame or recognition, but for Fred’s sake and to honour his memory. 

Harry closed his eyes as he watched the last photo play out, sighing in frustration. He wasn’t upset with Cole for capturing and publishing a picture of Harry being attacked in broad daylight, but he was not pleased to see if from an outside perspective. Harry opened his eyes to see his photograph self being flung back about fifteen metres and landing like a ragdoll on the cobblestone road. The caption read, “Uncalled-for violence cuts the night short as Potter is injured by an unhinged homophobic man.”

“Doesn’t mince words, does he?” Harry said with a chuckle, resigned to the fact that this was important to be documented, even if he didn’t want to see it. 

“No, and I think he phrased it quite nicely. I’ve always like the word unhinged,” Draco remarked thoughtfully. “He’s definitely a good pick, Harry.”

“I knew he would be.” He looked to Narcissa, who had found a place to sit on one of the white stools near the door. “What do you think of all this?” he asked, lifting the paper to signify what he was referring to. 

“I think that you were placed in the House of Gryffindor for very good reason, with all the bravery you show,” she said with a raised brow. “I also think that, since you plan to do this again, you may want to provide yourself with better protection than just security guards. They can only do so much against a mob of angry people, should there be one.” Harry’s brows tilted down in the middle at her concern for his safety. He’d expected her to comment on the speech itself, not what had resulted from the speech. 

“Right… Yeah, I’ll do that,” he said.

“She’s been strange today,” Draco half-whispered to him. “Swearing, trying to visit her estranged sister— oh, and deciding she’s no longer a bigot, too. Imagine my shock when my own mother, in public, declared herself an uppity bitch, and no, I’m not paraphrasing. She might have to start sharing a hospital room with Lockheart soon.” Harry barked out a strong laugh, thankful that it didn’t hurt his throat. 

“I’ll believe it when I hear it,” he said, still laughing at the idea of Narcissa Malfoy using anything less that proper language. Narcissa simply smiled secretively and glanced away.

Before anything more could be said about the weirdness that was Narcissa Malfoy, the door to Harry’s room was thrown open, nearly hitting her, and admitting Ron, Hermione, Teddy, Molly, George, Ginny, and Arthur. 

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione was the first to reach his bedside with Teddy on her hip. She took his hand in hers, clutching it to her chest. “Are you alright? Draco couldn’t really explain what’d happened last night, so all we knew was what Cole printed about it. We came as soon as we could.”

“We were all really worried, mate,” Ron said, coming up to stand beside her and flashing an awkward smile to Draco across from him on Harry’s other side. “Mum nearly had a stoke. That’s what it’s called, right?”

“A stroke, Ron,” Hermione corrected, and Harry snorted at his silly mispronunciation. 

“Next time you decide to go and get yourself maimed warn us first,” George said cheerfully.

“George! Now is not the time for jokes. How are you dear?” Molly pushed her way between George and Ron to stand closer to Harry.

“It wasn’t a joke,” George defended, though Harry wasn’t sure how he was meant to inform anyone of his impending doom when it was sprung on him with no warning.

All of the sudden Narcissa’s laughter cut through their show of concern, causing everyone to pause and turn around. Molly gasped and immediately crossed the room to confront Narcissa. Apparently no one had noticed her before then.

“What are _you_ doing here?” she shouted, pointing a finger in Narcissa’s calm looking face. “Haven’t you caused enough trouble already?”

“Molly, it’s alright,” Harry said, finally able to get a word in. “She knows she’s an uppity bitch, so don’t worry about it.” Molly twirled on her heel to face Harry with a look of flummoxed astonishment on her face. Ginny burst into unrestrained giggles and Harry smiled at her as she tried her best to compose herself. Looking back at Narcissa, he saw that she was doing her best not to laugh as well, which was probably the most bizarre thing Harry had seen all week. 

“Did you just… What is going on here?!” Molly looked completely out of sorts. Arthur came to usher her to a stool further away from Narcissa and patted her shoulder.

“Harry was cursed last night, but he’s being released today,” Draco informed them as his thumb smoothed the skin on the back of Harry’s hand. He summoned the clipboard that was still sitting on the bedside table and began reading off the notes there. “He was hit by a curse called Ulcus Suffocantum, a newly discovered curse that causes…” 

As Draco read the notes of Harry’s injuries to the roomful of people, just for that time, there was peace between families that had been at war with each other for too long. Everyone sat or stood, listening to Draco’s level and poised voice, not giving dirty looks or slinging insults. It was at this point, looking around at the roomful of his family— Narcissa included, he relented— that Harry realised things might just turn out alright after all. 

“So you’re not dying?” George asked. “Because I swear I will learn Necromancy just to bring you back and hex you back to death if you are.” 

“No, I’m not dying,” Harry chuckled. “Far from it. I’m fine, everyone, so please don’t be worried.”

“Easy for you to say,” Ron scoffed, rolling his eyes dramatically. “All I’ve heard about today is Mum ranting and raving about how unfortunate you are.”

“Oh, hush,” was Molly’s reprimand. She seemed to have calmed down a bit, but now that she knew there was little to be upset over she kept throwing disturbed glances at Narcissa, who was pretending not to notice.

“I’m just glad you had Draco right there,” Ginny said as she sat at the end of his bed. She gave a grateful smile to Draco and Harry wished he could properly see Draco’s facial expression at that moment. “Who knows what would’ve happened. George said the fireworks were so loud that nobody heard you getting attacked.” 

“Yes, so perhaps next time we can have a civilised event without all the dramatics,” Hermione scolded, glaring at George.

“I thought it would be fun!” George shrugged, blush tinting his cheeks. “Sorry, Harry.”

“No problem, I thought it was really cool.”

“Of course you did,” Hermione muttered.

“Can I see Teddy?” He gratefully took Teddy from her and snuggled up with the infant, holding him a bit tighter than usual at the reminder that his time as his guardian may be getting cut short. “By the way, George,” Harry said, remembering the one question he’d had after seeing Fred’s name in the sky. He didn’t think George was lying or joking about it, but he had to hear it from the closest source he had to Fred. “Was Fred really gay?”

“Oh, yeah,” was George’s easy reply. He sat down on the other side of the foot of Harry’s bed so he was back-to-back with Ginny.

“I’ve heard nothing about this,” Molly gasped. “Arthur, did he ever mention it to you?”

“No, I think I’d definitely remember something that important,” Arthur replied in confusion. “Why did he never tell us?”

“Why didn’t he tell me? _I’m_ his brother!” Ron complained, probably outraged at the thought that he’d been left in the dark.

“Yeah, well I’m his twin. He died before he got the chance to tell anyone else,” George explained, his eyes suddenly looking rather haunted. His voice had gotten quiet and the room around him had become even more so. “I had suspicions when he would start dating girls. He’d snog them in the corridors and whatnot, it was sort of hard not to notice, but… This doesn’t leave this room, alright?” He looked at Narcissa.

Would you like me to leave?” she asked softly. For the first time in Harry’s life he heard Narcissa sound kind and caring. It was different than the way she’d spoken during her apology to Harry; she was more sensitive than repentant. 

“Nah, it’s alright. Just… keep it to yourself.” Harry was surprised at George’s allowing her to stay and listen. He didn’t know her any better than the rest of the Weasleys, but for whatever reason he was trusting her to stay and be a part of such a personal situation. Harry looked at Draco to take in his response to this and saw that he was nonplussed as well. “Fred wasn’t ashamed of himself, exactly, but he knew that it wouldn’t go very well for him in school if he told people. Then when we got the joke shop he didn’t really think there was a point to telling people. It wasn’t a big deal to him, once he’d recognised it for himself, that he was bent. 

“But I noticed he didn’t really initiate any of the physical contact with his flings, and that he tended to stare at other boys in the dormitory, always with this look on his face… Then I found a bunch of photos of— well, you could probably guess. Anyway, I found some pictures that suggested he was more interested in wizards than witches. They were in his trunk at school.”

“Is that why you knew…?” Harry asked, trailing off as George nodded, confirming Harry’s growing suspicions. 

“It was the same thing, pretty much, as what Fred went through. I saw it happen once, it wasn’t hard to tell when it happened to you.” George gave another shrug. “I really am sorry about what happened at your speech. If I hadn’t done those fireworks you probably wouldn’t even be in the hospital. I just thought it would be a good way to end the night, you know? Celebrating, and all that jazz. Fred would’ve liked it.”

“Don’t be sorry. That bloke probably would’ve cursed me regardless of fireworks. I think Fred would’ve been proud.”

“Me too,” everyone started saying, one after the other. Aside from Narcissa, who still sat quietly on her stool, appearing deep in thought.

“What’s your take on this, Mother?” Draco asked, drawing everyone’s attention to him.

“I don’t think it’s my place to comment on something that I’ve only just started to understand,” she said, holding her head high and keeping her face void of any telling emotions. “However, it is clear that I have misjudged the Weasleys.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” George asked calmly. He was probably the least biased person in the room as far as Narcissa was concerned and it made Harry glad that he was the primary Weasley engaging with her. 

“I mean that I owe all of you an apology, but your parents most of all,” Narcissa said, looking to Molly and Arthur as she finished. “I didn’t share all of my husband’s views when it came to your family, but I can admit to being more judgemental than was in my rights, not knowing any of you personally. I apologise.”

Arthur nodded and Molly cast her eyes to the floor, but Harry could see that they approved of Narcissa’s apology, whether or not they accepted it and forgave her. Harry took that chance to pull a Hermione by catching her eye and looking at her as if to say, “I told you so.”


	31. Partial Conclusions

In the two weeks between Harry’s speech and Andromeda’s hospital release, he’d done another two speeches. To Draco’s satisfaction, these speeches had much better security and there were wards put up around Harry at all times, from the moment he arrived to his locations until the moment he’d left. Hermione was still taking the time from her weekends to attend the speeches and organise them for him, which Harry couldn’t thank her enough for. Ron had started Auror training the Monday following Harry’s speech and, since they didn’t get much time to chat and catch up as friends at work, they had decided to pick two evenings each week that they got together and did something fun. Twice Draco came with them, twice he opted to stay home with Teddy. Harry noticed that the more public the outing was, the less likely Draco was to tag along, but he was beginning to open up to the prospect of going into public a bit more than he had in a long time. That had to be an improvement, Harry thought.

Ron was starting to be a lot friendlier to Draco and it made Harry feel great to see that the two of them were finally getting along, as much as they could with their histories. They weren’t as close as Ron and Harry were, and he wasn’t sure if they ever would be, but it was a huge step in their relationship either way. 

During the two weeks it had taken for Andromeda’s pustules to go away completely, Harry and Draco had written to her about Teddy’s guardianship and offered for her to move in with them until she was able to find a new house. Since hers had been contaminated, she’d been forced to basically abandon it. Anything of sentimental value that was in the house was being duplicated for her by a hazmat team from the Ministry, but the rest was being left behind. Harry and Draco both felt horrible about the fact that she was giving up the home she’d raised her only— and now deceased— daughter in, but there was no helping it aside from offering their own home up to her. 

Andromeda had graciously accepted their invitation to live with them and had thanked them so many times that Harry didn’t think he could stand to receive another thank you for at least a year. There had been no definite plans as far as Teddy’s guardianship went, but Andromeda had seemed sort of hesitant to leave things the way they were. Draco had stormed out of the room when they’d first gotten the letter containing that bit, and Harry had given him time to handle his emotions. When he went to find Draco, hours later, he found him curled up in a nest of blankets on the floor of Teddy’s nursery, snuggling Teddy and snoring lightly. Harry didn’t have the heart to wake him up, and instead found himself entering the room quietly and laying down on Teddy’s other side. Though he’d kept it more to himself than Draco had, Harry was also not looking forward to the prospect of giving Teddy up. He felt emotionally robbed; he’d become so used to having Teddy to look forward to every day and saw the way Draco’s mood had improved so much for being around him. It would take a lot of adjustment to get used to having a baby-less house. He supposed there was nothing for it, though; Andromeda was Teddy’s rightful guardian, Ministry records be damned. She was his last remaining connection to his mother and she deserved to be the one to raise him. It was just going to be difficult.

 

<>

 

It was officially Andromeda’s hospital release date and she was due to arrive at any moment. Draco and Harry were putting the finishing touches on what was going to be her room when the Floo chime Harry had set up down in the kitchen alerted them to the presence of a guest. Taking a deep breath and picking Teddy up off the floor of Andromeda’s room, he led the way down to the kitchen.

“Welcome home!” Harry enthused as he wrapped Andromeda in a hug, making sure not to squeeze too tightly in case she was still feeling frail. He took in her appearance when he let her go and saw that she looked almost like she had before she’d been hospitalised, though she did look a lot thinner and had many rounded, raised scars covering her exposed flesh from the pustules that had covered her body.

“Thank you, Harry,” she said, and Harry did his best not to cringe. 

“It’s fine, really. No need to thank me. Draco was the one who came up with the idea, really.”

“Is that so?” She turned to Draco, but her eyes immediately went to Teddy and filled with tears. “Oh, how I’ve missed you, my sweet, sweet Teddy!” She scooped Teddy out of Draco’s arms and Harry watched as he held back his desire to keep Teddy. It looked as though Draco thought that this moment was the one he’d be losing Teddy, and Harry wished he could understand that it wasn’t.

“He has four teeth now and another feels like it’s coming in already,” Draco told her in a thick, emotional voice. “He’s started cruising along the furniture, too. I think he’ll be walking soon. He loves turkey pies.” Andromeda was holding Teddy close to her chest, but Teddy seemed very uncomfortable, like he couldn’t remember who she was anymore.

“Sounds like you’ve been a wonderful guardian,” she said, and proceeded to kiss Teddy all over his cheeks.

“I’ve tried,” Draco whispered, voice weak. Andromeda didn’t hear him.

“Well, can I get the grand tour, then?” Andromeda asked, smiling hugely. “I really can’t thank you both enough. My things from home will be delivered any day now, so at least I’ll have some sort of reminder of how things were before.” There was a bitterness to her last statement, but she quickly resumed her cheerful disposition with a shake of her long curls.

“That’ll be nice, won’t it?” Harry said as he let the way upstairs to the third floor. He pointed out rooms that she might be interested in knowing the locations of, such as Teddy’s nursery, which she poked her head into.

“Wow, you two really buckled down, didn’t you?” She sounded almost forlorn as she looked around the nursery. It was filled with toys and books and other baby things, as a nursery should be, in Harry’s opinion. “I didn’t expect so much…”

Harry glanced at Draco and saw that he his lips had drawn into a tight line, like they always did when he was holding something back. Andromeda schooled her face into an uneasy smile and asked to be shown to her room, kissing Teddy’s cheek again. Teddy still looked unsure in her arms, but he wasn’t crying. That was good, wasn’t it?

They showed her to her room and she glanced around appreciatively. “You boys don’t do things half way, do you?”

“We wanted you to be comfortable,” Harry explained, feeling sheepish for having put so much effort into her bedroom.

“I’m sure I will be.” Andromeda carried Teddy over to her new bed and set him down on top, then sat down beside him. She stared at him for awhile, an indiscernible look on her face. Harry was about to pull Draco out of the room when she looked over at them and said, “I don’t think he remembers who I am,” very quietly.

Harry had no idea what to do in this circumstance and was beginning to feel panic take over. Draco was hardly speaking and was obviously unhappy about something, though Harry couldn’t sure what it was. And now Andromeda looked as though she were going to cry because her grandson didn’t recognise her. Harry’s breathing picked up speed and he tried to think of something, anything, to say that could make this situation less uncomfortable when Draco took that moment to cross the room and carefully sit down on the other side of Teddy. Harry watched as he rubbed Teddy’s back and began to speak.

“This is your grandmother. She raised you almost from the time you were born, Teddy, until you came to live with me and your godfather, Harry. Your mother trusted you with her. She loves you very much, but she got sick and couldn’t be around anyone for a while. She’s family.” Draco looked up at Andromeda at the end and put on a small smile.

“Ba bo,” Teddy said, looking at Andromeda as well. Harry thought it was probably the soothing tone Draco had spoken in, and the fact that Teddy trusted Draco very much, that let him know that he was safe with this ‘stranger.’ It couldn’t have been that he’d actually understood the words spoken to him. Babies didn’t understand that much, did they?

“You sound just like Dora used to at your age,” Andromeda told Teddy. “She was your mother, and she loved you just as much as I do.”

“I’m going to go help Kreacher with dinner,” Harry told the three of them before he left and wandered downstairs. 

It was going to take time for everyone to adjust to the way things were. Andromeda probably had a feeling of regret about giving Teddy up and Harry knew for a fact that Draco was dreading the day Andromeda said she wanted Teddy back. Harry wasn’t sure how to feel about any of it. On the one hand, he didn’t want to lose Teddy. It was strange, but he felt as though they had a family and Harry had always wanted that. On the other hand, he didn’t want Andromeda to suffer the loss of yet another relative, and the last living memory of her daughter. Clearly he had a lot to mull over in his mind, and he hoped that inviting Andromeda to stay here wouldn’t cause any extra drama in his life. Like he needed any extra. He was Harry Potter, remember?

 

<>

 

“I found the perfect place,” Draco said as soon as Harry popped into the kitchen from the Floo. He’d been house hunting in his spare time, and thanks to Cosmos he hadn’t even had to leave the house to do it. He’d paid for a subscription to a homebuyers paper and had an entire list of places to look through.

“Have you?” Harry toed his boots off and kicked them under the table, a habit Draco hoped wouldn’t travel with them to their new house. “What about… you know?”

“Yes, I happen to know exactly what you’re referring to, even though you’ve said nothing to hint at what it could be,” he drawled. Harry rolled his eyes and sat down next to him at the table. Draco gave him a kiss and summoned the crisps from the pantry, letting the bag drop unceremoniously in front of Harry on the table. 

“Thanks.” He grabbed a handful and Draco was going to kill Ron Weasley because Harry then spoke through a mouthful of crisps. “You know what I mean, what about Teddy?”

“Firstly, never do that again. Secondly, I’ll be having a talk with Ron about what’ll happen if he continues to destroy the few good manners you actually possess. Third and lastly, I have… no fucking idea.” Where first he’d sounded firm and a bit agitated, he finished off his list in a rather dejected tone, his misery regarding the Teddy/Andromeda situation seeping back to the forefront of his mind. 

“I think we all need to sit down and talk about this.” It probably saved Ron’s life that Harry waited to swallow before responding. 

“Probably,” Draco sighed. “But that sounds like a horrible experience and I already feel like sleeping for the next decade over it.”

“Well, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go into a coma.”

“Who’s going into a coma?” Andromeda came strutting into the room with Teddy on her hip. It seemed she was everywhere Draco was, and always hogging Teddy. Draco could understand it for the first couple of weeks since his aunt had moved in, but he was starting to get jealous that he didn’t seem to get much quality time with Teddy anymore. When he’d expressed these things to Harry he’d been reminded that it had been half a year, give or take, since Andromeda had seen her grandson and it was only natural she’d want to spend as much time with his as possible. Still, it didn’t seem fair that the only real time Draco got with Teddy was while Andromeda was doing physical therapy at St. Mungo’s. 

“No one, and I’d like it to stay that way.” Harry shot a covert glare in Draco’s direction.

“Good. A coma would be pretty boring, wouldn’t it?” Andromeda took a seat at the table after placing Teddy in his high chair. He’d certainly become more comfortable with her and Draco couldn’t help but feel she was steadily becoming the favourite. 

“Boring, yes, but not painful,” he sighed. Andromeda’s brows creased as she gathered that something was off.

“What’s going on, Draco? Is something wrong?”

“We were thinking of having a family meeting,” Harry started, leaving Draco no choice but to face the problems at hand. “I know you basically just got back from the hospital, but Draco and I have been wondering what it is you plan to do about Teddy’s guardianship. Draco told me he’s found a house, and we’re planning on moving soon.”

“Oh… I didn’t know you’d be leaving. I haven’t found a place to live that’s within my means to purchase.” Andromeda appeared fretful at this news, but Harry and Draco had discussed what would happen with the house, at least.

“We actually wanted to give this house to you,” Harry told her. “I’m not going to sell it, and it’ll just sit here with no one living in it once we move. If you want it, it’s yours. Kreacher will hate coming with us, but it’ll probably be better if he does.” Kreacher had not been happy to see Andromeda and it took an immense amount of persuasion to get him to serve her in any way. Once he’d seen that she was nice to him, however, he had begun treating her nearly as well as he treated Harry and Draco. Still, Harry didn’t think it would be wise to leave Kreacher behind, and Draco agreed.

“I couldn’t accept that,” Andromeda said, shaking her head fiercely. “You boys have already done enough taking care of Teddy and offering me a place to stay while I find another home.”

“Well, then you’re welcome to live here until you do find a place, even after we move out. This house was in your family before it was ever given to me, and Draco and I have no desire to live here much longer. Again, if you want it…”

“I’ll have to think on that. I don’t have many fond memories of this place as a child,” she muttered. “As for Teddy… Well, I’m not sure what I’d like to do yet. You both have custody over him, and reversing that would require standing before the Wizengamot. I was hoping we could all work something out without going through that whole process. If I’d known I wasn’t going to die I wouldn’t have made things so complicated, but there was no way of knowing my health would return, especially with how bad it had gotten.”

Draco’s stomach dropped. So she really did intend to take Teddy back. His heart wanted to break as he looked at Teddy in his highchair, sitting there and having probably no clue as to what was being discussed. Sooner than Draco could’ve foreseen— and honestly he hadn’t thought Andromeda would survive, therefore hadn’t foreseen it at all — Teddy would go back to living with his grandmother. His breath caught in his throat as he pictured saying a last goodbye to Teddy before they moved into their new house. Without him.

“Are you alright, Draco?” Andromeda asked, interrupting his pity party. Or misery party, rather.

“No, not really.” What was the point of lying, when the truth was written all over his face? His blasted Malfoy mask was so difficult to put in place these days, and he didn’t really feel like trying to put it back on, anyway. It wasn’t a crime, how he felt, and he didn’t think he was required to pretend he was okay with what was going to happen. 

“Are… are you upset with me?” Her hand outstretched across the table, but she seemed to think better of placing it on top of Draco’s and withdrew it, placing both her hands beneath the table in her lap instead. 

“Not with you, exactly, but with the circumstances. You can probably tell how attached I’ve become to my cousin, and I’m having a very hard time coming to terms with letting him go. As much as I tried not to, I’ve grown to think of him as… as my child. I know he’s _not_ ,” he said hurriedly, hoping his aunt wouldn’t get the idea he was attempting to replace Lupin and Nymphadora. “I know he has parents and that they would’ve given anything to be able to raise him themselves, but I just— I really love him.

“He’s your grandson, and you have every right to be the one to raise him. I know this, too. Regardless of how many times I tell myself that he belongs with you and not me, I can’t make myself believe it. It’s selfish and probably offensive to you, hearing me say all this, but it’s how I feel. I’ll understand if you do want to keep him, but I won’t pretend it isn’t going to hurt me.”

As Andromeda blinked in surprise and her brows creased in the centre, Harry’s hand found Draco’s knee beneath the table and rested there. The contact was comforting, but it did nothing to ease the new nervousness Draco felt at having told his aunt his deepest current fear. After becoming closer to her and seeing her as a real relative to him when all his other family was dead, imprisoned, or estranged, he didn’t want this to be the thing that separated them again. He decided to tell her so, since she hadn’t spoken yet.

“I feel the same toward you, Draco.” Her voice wavered a bit and Draco was afraid he’d made her cry with his honesty, but thankfully no tears were shed. “I have no desire to ruin the family you’ve made, and I _do_ see how you’ve all become a little family. You’ve impressed and astounded me with the transformation you’ve made since I saw you last. Both of you, but more specifically Draco. I had no idea things would come to this. 

“Part of me wants to keep Teddy for my own, but… honestly, it was really hard being a single person raising a child. I’d never had to do it before, obviously, as Dora was grown by the time my husband died. Harry, you’ve witnessed how difficult it was for me and you helped me a lot before the Spattergroit. Now, with how weak I’ve become and how perpetually exhausted I am, I’m sure it’ll only be more difficult than ever.”

“I really enjoyed helping you, so it was no trouble.” Harry smiled comfortingly at Andromeda and she returned it, though her smile was tinged with sadness. 

“I’m still working through the grief of losing both my husband and daughter, and while Teddy helps me cope with the pain, sometimes it’s very difficult to even get out of bed in the morning,” she admitted, not meeting their eyes. “I think… I think we could arrange a sort of shared-custody. You two could probably use breaks to just be a couple, and I know that, realistically, I will need breaks in the future, just like I did before. Right now I’m just so happy to be alive that I want all the cuddles and kisses I can get from him. But as things get back to normal, and as he gets older, life will become more difficult for whoever is raising him. Believe me, if he’s anything like his mother, we’ll need all the help we can get.” Harry chuckled a bit, though Draco was still waiting to find out what that would mean for them. He would take whatever he could get, as far as being Teddy’s guardian went, but he wanted to know precisely what Andromeda had in mind when she spoke of shared-custody. 

“What do you think would be ideal, then?” he asked her. 

“Would three days at each person’s house work for you two? Say I drop him off on Sunday evening and get him back Thursday morning? That way you two have weekends for yourselves. I don’t go out much, so I wouldn’t mind.” Draco nodded, his mood lifting by quite a lot. That sounded like something he could deal with. “I think you and I are feeling pretty similarly about all of this,” she went on. “Neither of us wants to give him up, but neither of us wants to upset the other by saying so.”

“That about sums it up,” Draco agreed. “But your idea sounds like a compromise that will benefit everyone, including Teddy. It’ll probably be a bit odd for him, going back and forth between households when he’s a bit older, but before school starts I think it’ll be another way our family can become even closer.” At his last statement Draco was reminded of what his mother had told him at the hospital, about wanting to reconnect with her sister. Hesitantly, he asked her, “Has Mother talked to you at all, recently?”

“Oh yes, we’ve been writing back and forth,” she said, visibly cheering up. “I’m amazed at how different she appears to be. I have hope for our relationship; she seems like someone I’d actually want to have as a sister, these days.” Hearing that made Draco’s heart feel lighter, and it was necessary in that exact moment. After getting so upset it was good to hear some pleasant news. “She even apologised for the things she’d done in the past, though I find myself having a harder time letting all that go, when I think too long about it.”

“She’s apologised to everyone, pretty much,” Harry told her, and explained about what had happened between Narcissa and the Weasleys in his hospital room weeks ago. “It was really weird, but I think it’s good that she’s making so much progress.”

“I’m glad to hear that I’m not the only one she’s trying to make amends with. It’s about time she got around to making up for disowning you, Draco.”

“Among other things,” Draco grumbled, still a bit sore over the whole poisoning thing. 

“Yes, she’s discussed many of the things I missed while I was in quarantine.” Andromeda sounded just as disapproving as Draco felt. Perhaps even moreso. “It sounds to me as though she had a bit of a mental breakdown, but it also sounds like she’s doing much better. Perhaps it was necessary for her to go a bit mad before she could understand just how bad she’d gotten.”

“Maybe, but I really do think she could’ve taken it down a notch,” Harry added. “And now we’ve got a ridiculous fountain sitting on top of the house that I never would’ve picked out for decor had I even wanted a fountain.”

“That’s what you’re still hung up on?” Draco thought there were many other things that were more upsetting than the fountain; he’d gotten so used to it that he’d nearly forgotten it was there at all. Not to mention, other things had come up that were definitely a lot more important to him than his mother’s poorly chosen apology gift. 

“It’s not left my mind once since we got it,” Harry frowned. “I mean, at first it was sort of funny, but what are we going to do with it when we move?”

“Speaking of moving, Harry, how do you feel about us sharing Teddy amongst the three of us?” Andromeda asked, drawing their eyes back to her. “You didn’t really say anything about it.”

“I’m fine with it. Honestly, I was pretty devastated to think we’d have to completely give up taking care of Teddy, but I didn’t think there could be a compromise, so I’d sort of… resigned myself to the fact that we wouldn’t have him in our home anymore.” Draco could understand why; after losing so much of his family over the years Harry probably resigned himself to lots of awful things and kept it to himself. It was something they were working on together, but apparently he needed a reminder. “I’m glad we could reach a decision that we’re all happy with, and that it didn’t cause any chaos to do so.” Andromeda smiled hugely at his remark and laughed a bit.

“Go on, then, Draco, what will you two be doing with the fountain when you move?” she asked. “I’m curious about it, myself.”

“I was hoping we could leave it here…”

“Why do you two dislike it so much, anyway?”

“It’s hideous,” Draco said at the same time that Harry said, “It’s hilarious, but gaudy,” causing Andromeda to outrightly laugh at them. It was a sound that Draco had loved and was very glad to have the chance to hear again, especially now that he felt no hidden resentment toward her. Teddy began laughing as well at the sound of his grandmother’s amusement. 

“They’re quite the duo, aren’t they, Teddy?” She grinned at him, gently elbowing him as though they were sharing an inside joke. “Can I see this hideous, hilarious, and gaudy fountain that my sister so graciously bestowed upon you?” Draco and Harry shared a look, but had two different expressions on their faces; Harry looked slyly amused and Draco simply raised an eyebrow.

“Sure, why not?”

Silently asking Andromeda if it was alright that he carry Teddy, Draco stood up from the table and approached the highchair. Andromeda nodded her head and he picked his cousin up, then led the way, yet again, to the horrible reminder of his mother’s disturbing present on the roof terrace. On the way up Andromeda kept asking if it was really all that bad. Draco and Harry answered yes each time, because really it was. 

“Here it is,” Draco said as he opened the door to the roof and held it open for his two followers. 

“Oh my…” Coming to a startled stop upon leaving the stairway, Andromeda’s eyes popped wide open at the sight before her. “It’s certainly, erm… grand, isn’t it?”

“You could call it that,” Draco replied, trying to hold back his titters as her eyes were drawn to the mermaid’s chest. Whoever had sculpted her had certainly been fond of breasts, though Draco was of the opinion that they could’ve made the statue less surreal. 

“Is it bad that I sort of love it?” Andromeda stepped closer to the monstrously huge fountain and sat down on the edge of the basin. She dipped her hand in and swept it through the golden water, creating waves of her own amongst the others. “It’s strange, but also beautiful, I think.”

“Are you sure the Spattergroit didn’t mess with your brain a bit?” It was rude, but Draco couldn’t help but ask, he was so shocked. Thankfully, Andromeda sputtered and laughed at his blunt questioning of her sanity.

“It may have, but either way I think this fountain is charming, in a way. If you two want to leave it here that’s quite alright with me. I’ll enjoy it for myself, if you don’t.”

“Well at least someone likes it,” Harry muttered, sharing another look with Draco. “Does that mean you’re going to stay here after we leave?” Andromeda continued to stare at the mermaid statue and stroke the water as she responded.

“I don’t see what else I can do. I won’t intrude on your new home; you deserve to experience that as a family. It’ll take me awhile to figure out where I can go and what I can afford, so yes. I’ll have to stay here.” She didn’t sound upset that she had to stay at Number 12, but she didn’t seem very enthusiastic about the prospect. 

 

<>

 

Their nightly, before-bed conversation came to an end as they both removed their clothes and practically attacked each other with their excitement. There was a lot to be celebrating, including, but not limited to, the fact that they’d been approved for buying the house Draco had picked out. It was gorgeous and Harry had fallen in love with it half way through their tour of it. The rooms were large and spacious with lots of windows looking out on an actual front yard. There were four bedrooms— they’d already picked theirs out; it was the one with a bench seat in the large bay window, which looked out over the backyard— two bathrooms, a sitting and drawing room, a modest kitchen with room for walking around, and more storage space than Harry knew what to do with. It was definitely a lot smaller than Number 12, but Harry was glad of it. There really was too much house compared to the number of people living within, and it would be a nice change only having two stories as opposed to seven and a terrace. Even the backyard was beautiful, with its fish pond and garden area. Though Harry had never gardened before, he thought he wouldn’t mind taking it up as a hobby. Draco had his cello, Harry needed something too. 

“I fucking love it when you do that,” Harry moaned as Draco thrusted into him, hitting his prostate and effectively bringing Harry to the edge of his orgasm. His arse tightened with every raise of his hips as he worked in time with Draco’s quickening rhythm. 

No further compliments were made, however, after Draco roughly pressed his lips to Harry’s and dug his nails into his shoulders. Harry could feel Draco getting closer, too, and heard it in the way his lover’s deep whimpers became more frequent beside from behind him. They’d both discovered, as they explored their sex life, that their preferred position was having one or the other of them bent over the edge of the bed while the other slammed into them from behind. It was the best way they’d found to hit the bent-over person’s prostate and also one of the only positions that allowed for the deepness of penetration desired by both of them. 

“Oh, _fuck_ — Draco,” Harry cried just before he felt his orgasm take over all senses. A shaking, satisfied sigh escaped his lips while his body seemed to vibrate with pleasure, and Draco was not far behind him, if his deep, quick plunges were anything to go by. 

Draco didn’t say anything when he finally found release, but his gratified groan said everything. It always amazed Harry that they could find such intense pleasure through each other, and as they both collapsed side-by-side on the bed he sighed and sank into the afterglow of another good shag. 

“You’re so loud,” Draco commented, out of breath. “Thank Merlin for silencing charms.”

“Oh, I didn’t realise he’d invented them,” Harry retorted sarcastically. “You’re just as loud as I am, if not louder. I just express myself with words instead of grunts and sobs.” Draco gasped in feigned outrage.

“I do not _sob_ , I…” He paused, attempting to come up with a better term for what was definitely sobbing, though not in turmoil by any means. “I can’t think of anything. Pretty sure you’ve just shagged me senseless.” 

“I’ll cross that off my bucket list, then,” Harry smirked. “I can’t wait to move into our new house.”

“Me either, it’ll be nice to not have to cast scent-masking charms every time I walk into a room.”

“It’s not _that_ stinky here…” But his defence sounded weak, even to him. “Well, maybe a little.”

“It’s definitely stinky, and embarrassing. I’ll be glad to have a house that won’t mortify me when guests come over. And I’m converting one of those bedrooms into a library, I hope you know.”

“I figured you would. Hermione will be glad to hear that.”

“I’m not doing it for her, but you’re right, she will be.”

Until they were too tired to go on, they discussed their big plans for the new house. Draco intended to have an arts room and a library, something Harry only agreed to if he was able to use the shed in the backyard as a broom and gardening tool storage area and was able to plant whatever he wanted in the garden. It wasn’t hard to agree to, as Draco would be the one at home with Teddy more often than Harry would be home at all. When Harry had asked what Draco wanted with an arts room he’d replied ambiguously that Harry would find out in due time. Harry had joked and asked if Draco was suddenly a painter or something, but Draco had only frowned at him and kept silent. It was a mystery that Harry was excited to figure out.

The more Harry thought about having shared guardianship with Andromeda the more he liked the idea, and Draco had agreed when he’d expressed this to him. They were both feeling somewhat distanced from each other with how much Harry worked and with the speeches he’d been doing. Draco had said he wasn’t going to bring it up because what Harry was doing was important, but he really did miss their one-on-one time. Having three days every week, and the weekend at that, to spend with each other seemed like something they’d need if they didn’t plan on winding up as roommates who shagged regularly and raised a kid together. What had wound up keeping them both up later than they’d wanted to was Draco bringing up the topic of adoption. 

“My mother mentioned it a while back and I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I’m not sure if it’s something we should do, but I wanted to see how you felt about it,” he’d elaborated. 

“To be honest, I haven’t thought about that at all,” Harry admitted. “But it doesn’t sound like something I’d be against. What made you bring it up?” He had a suspicion that Draco actually did want to adopt and was only saying he wasn’t sure because he didn’t know how Harry would react.

“I already told you, I was curious about what you’d say.” The lack of defensiveness in his voice made Harry believe he meant that. “In any case, I don’t think it would be a good idea for at least a few years. You know, give us time to see what it’s like to have one toddler running around before we decide we want to add another child to the family.” Harry laughed and agreed that that would probably be smart.

“Would you want to adopt a baby or a kid?” Harry wondered. Since they were discussing hypotheticals he didn’t feel uncomfortable asking.

“Probably a kid. Mum told me that a lot of people only want babies and so most orphanages have a bunch of kids running around, not getting adopted.” Draco pulled a face that told Harry how much that thought bothered him. 

“That works for me, then. Would you want to be a stay-at-home dad, or would you want to work eventually?” That had been something he’d been pondering lately. It wasn’t like they couldn’t afford to have Draco stay at home, especially now that he had his Malfoy money back, but Harry did have to wonder how Draco felt about being home all the time. If it were him, he’d go crazy if he didn’t get out of the house. 

“I think I’d like to work, but I’m not sure what I should do.”

“Well, you’ve got lots of time to figure it out, don’t you?”

“Do you want to get married?” Harry had been staring up at the ceiling until that question popped, without warning, out of Draco’s mouth. His head whipped over and he stared at Draco with his surprise plain on his face. 

“Are you proposing we do?” Draco snickered at what must’ve been a ridiculous expression on Harry’s face, because Harry wasn’t sure what else could be funny.

“I don’t know. I kind of like calling you my boyfriend, but…” He sighed, and Harry knew this conversation was about to get more serious. “Mother pointed out to me, the day she apologised, that me not wanting to marry you because marriage was what she and father wanted was just an act of rebellion.”

“Your mother’s been putting lots of thoughts into your head, hasn’t she?” Draco groaned as Harry laughed at him, but then said, “She mentioned something about marriage to me, too. Do you think you’re just trying to be rebellious by refraining?”

“I didn’t want to think so at first, but the more I think about it the more I’ve been asking myself if she had a point. I don’t feel like we have to get married in order to have a family, or to really be a couple, but I’ve been trying to put aside my prejudice against my parents and figure out if marriage is something I want. Just because I want it.” 

“And have you come to a conclusion yet?” Harry tried very hard not to react to the bubble of hope that was growing somewhere near his kidneys because it was making it hard to breathe. 

“Not quite, but I’ve been leaning more towards liking the idea of marrying you.” 

“I thought you said marriage was stupid.”

“I never said it was stupid, I just thought it was another way for my parents to hold me down. Mother pointed out to me, also, that I’ve already rebelled in the most extreme ways I could’ve, so there’s really no point in rebelling further.”

“I was right to call her manipulative,” Harry sighed. “Are you sure that you like the idea of marriage? We don’t have to get married, Draco. I’ll love you either way.” Since Harry had said he’d loved Draco the first time it was much easier to repeat it. At the speech he’d had this overpowering urge to tell Draco how he felt, and though it was probably cheesy and cliche, he thought he’d timed it out rather well. It was obvious how good it had made Draco feel, and he liked making Draco feel good. 

“I know we don’t have to get married, and I’m still not sure I want to yet. I’ve just been thinking about it.”

“I’ve been thinking about it, too,” Harry said quietly. “On my lunch break, when I don’t eat at the Ministry, I always walk past this one jewelry shop and a few times…”

“A few times, what?”

“Well, there’s a ring that’s been catching my eye.”

“You didn’t buy it, did you?” Draco groaned. “I swear if you spend another galleon on me before my birthday I will—”

“Oh, calm down,” Harry chortled, loving how riled up Draco got at the thought of Harry spending large amounts of money on him. “I didn’t buy it, okay? It just caught my eye. Several times.”

“You’ve already given me one ring, and this one will do perfectly fine— if we even decide to get married. Please don’t buy me another one.”

“But that’s not an engagement ring.”

“It might as well be,” Draco muttered. 

“What do you mean?” Harry knew exactly what Draco meant, but what he was curious about was how Draco had figured it out.

“Mum told me what it means, Harry. Did you honestly believe that my mother, one of the most traditional purebloods, would overlook something like that?”

“Uppity bitch,” Harry sighed. 

“Self-proclaimed, yes,” Draco agreed. “Which still boggles my mind to this day.”

“So she told you about what the ring means…” Harry sighed and decided he owed Draco a bit of an explanation. “I promise that I didn’t have any ulterior motives for it, really. I just thought… since you’re a pureblood and were raised around pureblood traditions…”

“It was very thoughtful of you, and I do really love this ring, but I think I’m all done with pureblood traditions, after that bloody fountain.”

“Can’t say I blame you, there. It is weird, how much Andromeda likes it, isn’t it?”

“I definitely think so, but hey, I’m not going to stop her from keeping it here. We’re not taking it with us, either way. I refuse.”

“No need, I don’t want it, either.”

“I want to buy her a house,” Draco said, again startling Harry with his random thoughts. 

“Are you serious? Can you even afford to do that? We’re about to be buying one, too, and you know I won’t be able to afford it on my own. Can your vaults handle that?” Draco turned his head on his pillow and raised a single blond brow.

“At this very second, even after the war reparations— which were not small fines— I could purchase two manor homes the size of my mother’s and still afford to live comfortably for the rest of my days. Oh, _and_ leave Teddy enough for a generous inheritance.”

“So you’re serious,” Harry replied, trying to wrap his mind around how much money that could be. More money than he had, apparently, though it hadn’t been a secret that the Malfoys were loaded. 

“Yes. I want to buy her a house. Mother told me that Andromeda wasn’t very well off to begin with, and with the hospital bills she’s racked up she’s going to be destitute before she manages to get another place. Helping you buy our house, which I’m assuming I’ll pay half of, will not even begin to break my bank, let alone bend it. My coffers are overflowing, I’d like to do something good with it.”

“Your mother doesn’t know how to keep her mouth shut, does she?”

“Well, she used to, but it seems recently she’s been going with an honesty policy so severe she’s transparent. She never was that way, but it’s sort of refreshing.”

“So,” Harry said, making a mental list of all the things on their growing to do list. “We’ve got to buy our house, pack up our things— but probably leave Teddy’s stuff here so Andromeda doesn’t have to buy him everything new— unpack our things, buy Andromeda a house, throw a housewarming party for both households, and… I feel like I’m forgetting something.”

“Birthdays.”

“Right, birthdays. Why do they all have to be so close together?” 

“I don’t know, but Teddy’s is next month. I have no idea what to get him.” Harry’s brain was beginning to hurt with the thought of all they had to do in a short period of time.

“We can think about that tomorrow.”

Deciding to put an end to the talking, Harry rolled over and wrapped an arm around Draco’s waist, tugging him closer to his chest. Inhaling the clean scent of Draco’s hair— something he thought was equal parts creepy and comforting— he managed to get a decent night’s sleep.


	32. House Warming

“Harry!” Draco called up the stairs. “People are going to start showing up any minute, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Be right down!”

“I’ve heard that one before,” he muttered with a roll of his eyes directed at the empty second floor hallway. 

Harry had locked Draco out of their room about an hour ago because he was determined to dress himself for their housewarming party. Dubious of whether or not it was a good idea, but fully in support of Harry developing his own sense of fashion, he’d left Harry to figure out his wardrobe for himself. If he took any longer with it, however, Draco was going to Expulso into the room and drag him out, dressed or not. 

Deciding it would do no good to shout up the stairs any more, Draco went to the drawing room and made sure everything was perfect for the fifteenth time. Yes, the hors d'oeuvres were under heating and cooling charms, depending on their nature. Yes, he’d made sure to put out the proper drinking glasses. Yes, he’d put the vinyls in a stack and in the proper order. Yes, he’d put cushioning charms on all the furniture, just in case. Everything looked good, just like it had last time he’d checked. 

A knock sounded at the front door and Draco ground his teeth because, no, Harry was still not downstairs yet. Taking a deep breath, Draco schooled his features into some semblance of I’m-not-having-a-panic-attack and went to answer the door. 

“We’re not late, are we?” Hermione asked, pulling him into a brief hug. “You know, we could’ve come earlier to help set everything up.”

“You’re not late; you’re actually the first to show up. Hello, Ron,” he said over her shoulder where Ron stood with a large, goofy grin.

“Wotcher, Draco,” Ron greeted pleasantly. “Is there food?” Draco struggled not to roll his eyes and directed them into the house.

“Yes, there’s food, Ron. What kind of party would it be without food?”

“That’s what I’m saying… Wow, this place is pretty nice. I like the wallpaper.”

“Ron, will you please keep your fingers to yourself?” Hermione snapped in a half-arsed way. “I don’t understand why you feel the need to touch everything constantly.”

“It’s moving, though!”

“Do you two want the grand tour, or do you want to stand in the vestibule and bicker all night?” Draco asked. 

Ron looked slightly downcast, but the mood was lightened considerably when he asked, “What the hell is a vestibule?” Both Hermione and Draco rolled their eyes. 

“Alright, I’m done!” From the top of the stairway came Harry’s voice, stealing their attention as they looked to where he stood. 

“What…”

“Bloody hell, mate, talk about a transformation.”

At the top of the stairs stood Harry in a pair of superbly fitting black jeans which appeared to have intentional rips in several places down the legs. He wore a white, v-neck shirt that exposed a bit of his sparse chest hair— also sporting intentional rips— and over top of that he had on a leather jacket. His glasses had apparently been Transfigured, because instead of the circular specs he was known for having, his face was complemented by a pair of black rectangular glasses. Draco’s mouth had gone dry at the sight of him, and at first he hadn’t been sure it was Harry at all, but the messy hair gave him away. He came stomping down the stairs in his usual gawky manner as well, which would’ve told Draco exactly who he was even if his hair hadn’t.

“Where did you get these clothes?” Draco finally managed to speak after several moments staring like a buffoon. 

“You don’t like them?” Despite his innocent looking smile, Draco could tell Harry was genuinely seeking his approval on his new attire.

“If I told you exactly how much I like them our friends would leave and never come back, scarred for life because they’d witnessed sexual acts that should probably be illegal.” Ron groaned and shook his head, Hermione giggled hysterically, and Harry’s mouth gaped open as his cheeks turned crimson.

“You two are _so_ lucky we love you,” Hermione said through her laughter. “You do look nice, though, Harry. Is this the sort of thing you’d like to wear more frequently? It suits you really well.” She began slowly walking around him, inspecting his outfit with pursed lips. 

“Yeah, I like this style.” Harry’s blush deepened as he glanced at Draco again. Another quick rapping on the door interrupted their scrutinising of Harry’s new outfit. “I’ll get it.”

Soon their new house was full of Weasleys and they’d all relocated to the sitting room after showing everyone around their new house. His mother had yet to show up, as well as Andromeda with Teddy, but he wasn’t too worried about it. The large group sat on every available piece of furniture— including, to Draco’s silent dismay, his brand new mahogany end tables— eating food and drinking. He’d picked up several bottles of Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey, the oldest year the store carried, for those who wished to partake in getting absolutely pissed. It’d been a very long time since Draco had cut loose; he felt he deserved it after all he’d gone through.

“I never told anyone about that!” Ginny cried, taking Draco away from his thoughts. She was red in the face and looking aghast at Charlie, who sat on the floor near Ron’s large feet. “How do you know anything about it?”

“You’ll have to thank George for that,” Charlie said with a large, unashamed grin. “Extendable Ears was a genius invention, brother.”

“Thanks, they’ve definitely served their purpose over the years.” George was smug as he sipped his whiskey.

“You’re both horrible. I can’t believe you. Mum, tell them they’re horrible,” Ginny demanded, though she was now trying not to laugh. Draco had no idea what they were talking about, but it was excellent entertainment nonetheless. 

“You’re horrible,” Molly said distractedly, not bothering to turn away from her conversation with Fleur. Ginny scoffed at her mother’s lack of discipline and crossed her arms.

“Well, if you didn’t have a voice-to-text diary maybe I wouldn’t have overheard you talking about how Dean Thomas has the cutest bum in existence,” Charlie said, obviously egging her on. 

“I was fourteen, what did I know about bums back then?”

“Apparently a lot.” Charlie elbowed George to get his attention. “You should’ve heard her, she went on for over twenty minutes about how _wonderful_ and _firm_ his arse looked at the first quidditch match of the year.” He added a lovesick sigh to the end, which brought about a roomful of loud cackling.

“ _Will you shut up!_ ”

“It’s alright, Ginny.” Deciding it was time to interfere before the playful argument became more real, Draco gave his two knuts. “Dean does have a nice arse. Not _the_ cutest, though. It’s hard to beat Malfoy genetics.” 

“Shall I tell him you said that when he gets here?” Harry quipped, raising an eyebrow to match his smirk. 

“I’d hate to make Seamus jealous, so perhaps we’ll keep it to ourselves.”

“Wait, Dean and Seamus are dating?” Ginny asked excitedly. “When did that happen?”

“I’m not sure, actually. I only found out recently. We’re in Auror training together.”

“Dean’s gay?” Ron asked.

“That’s why we broke up, Ron, I already told you this.” Giving her brother a look of mild impatience she threw her hair over her shoulder. “Or part of the reason, at least. You never listen.”

“Again, I only found that out recently. We’ve gone on a few double-dates. How did you not read about that in the paper?”

“I stopped reading the _Prophet_ after Christmas,” Ron said with a shrug. “Didn’t really feel right reading it after they posted so much rubbish about you two.”

“Oh… Thanks, Ron.” Harry smiled at his best friend and Draco continued to watch everyone interacting pleasantly. 

About a half hour after the bum conversation, Andromeda, Narcissa, and Teddy all showed up together. Not long after they arrived so did Dean and Seamus. Then came Neville and, oddly enough, Luna Lovegood, who was holding his hand when Draco opened the door to let them in. Apparently nothing had developed between George and Lovegood, if she was on Neville’s arm. Draco was perfectly happy with that; as much as he didn’t mind Lovegood, it was difficult to hold up a conversation with her for a long period of time and he thought it would be awkward if she married into his family. _Or the Weasley family, rather,_ he corrected mentally. Not to mention the fact that it was still hard looking at her without thinking about her being kept prisoner in his house, or that he hadn’t even tried to free her or the others. Deciding he would just have to grin and bear the discomfort— Merlin knew she had, so he could too— he welcomed the couple into his and Harry’s home and directed them toward the festivities.

Andromeda was thrilled with the house Draco had bought her and kept remarking on how similarly it was laid out to her previous house. What she didn’t know was how hard Draco had searched for a house that would remind her of her old one. Or perhaps she did, because throughout the evening she continued to shoot him grateful glances that verged on guilty sometimes. He hoped she didn’t think him buying her a house was equal to him pitying her; it really wasn’t a big deal to him and he’d been able to afford it easily. Then again, if someone had bought him a house in her situation he’d probably feel the same way.

“Hermione,” Draco said when she’d come to sit by him, a glass of firewhiskey in hand. 

“Yes, Draco?”

“Do you happen to know what houses those bodyguards at Harry’s speech were in?” He’d been meaning to ask her since the day of Harry’s first speech, but hadn’t gotten around to it for obvious reasons. 

“Oh, yes. Reggie’s a Slytherin, Endivia is a Hufflepuff, and Hector is a Gryffindor. Why do you ask?” Damn, so he’d only gotten one right. 

“Just a guessing game I played when I met them. I’m surprised Endivia’s a Hufflepuff, though. I’d pegged her as either a Gryffindor or Slytherin.”

“I thought we were past the house stereotyping,” she said with a small frown. “Why does it matter what houses they’re in?”

“It doesn’t, really, I just wondered if I could guess accurately. Goes to show that the house system isn’t always an accurate judge of character, doesn’t it?” Hermione smiled at him in approval and appeared to be about to respond when she was distracted by Ron gathering a fifth, large helping of mince pies. 

For several minutes Draco just sat quietly, sipping his whiskey and watching his guests mingle. The gift table, which Harry had wanted to refuse, was full of colourful parcels and gift bags with tacky, thin paper sticking out of the top. Near the gift table stood Neville and Luna, who were looking through the pile of vinyls and inspecting the inner sleeves. Toward the bay window sat Andromeda and Narcissa, who was holding Teddy and helping him dance along with the music. Draco recalled her telling him she used to do that with him as a baby, too, and it made Draco smile to himself to see her do it with Teddy. Andromeda was laughing at Teddy’s face and hair, which was changing colours rapidly to the beat of said music. 

George and Charlie appeared to be coming up with ridiculous dance routines and making fun of each other’s jerky movements. It was like some sort of dance competition where they both were trying their hardest to lose. Percy the Prat was watching them in disapproval, sitting stiffly in one of the armchairs near the fireplace. He had a plate of mince pies and a glass of water, apparently too prudish to even partake in a single glass of alcohol. Ah, well, Draco thought. More for him. And apparently Fleur, too, because she was cackling loudly in her chair beside her husband Bill. Her cheeks were rosy and her dress’ strap was hanging off her shoulder precariously. Bill kept glancing down at her chest as though he were hoping to get a glimpse of what her dress was hiding, and Draco had no idea why; they were married, surely he got to see her naked plenty. 

Molly was standing up from the sofa she shared with her husband and a couple of her kids. Draco watched her curiously as she approached his mother and aunt at the window. Doing his best to hear their conversation and tune out all the other noises in the room, he stared at the exchange that took place. 

“Evening… wanted to ask… alright?” He was too far away to hear most of what Molly said, but he gathered that she was asking to hold Teddy when he was handed to her from Narcissa’s lap. 

“How are… look lovely and… so proud… the firewhiskey?” 

It was obviously not going to work for Draco, trying to eavesdrop on his two motherly figures. They were too far away from him and there was too much going on aside from that. He supposed it wasn’t necessary to listen in on their conversation, though, because it was going pretty well from what he could tell. No hateful looks were being exchanged, and neither of them was yelling, obviously. That had to count for something. 

Just as Draco was about to stand up and chat with Dean and Seamus, Harry sat down on his lap sideways, making getting off the sofa close to impossible. 

“What are you doing?” Draco asked, surprised at such a public display of affection. Harry was usually much less forward about things like this, and usually kept physical contact to a minimum when others were around. Perhaps his new outfit was giving him confidence in that aspect. Draco wasn’t sure he had it in him to mind. 

“Sitting on you,” was Harry’s simple reply. “What are you doing?”

“Being sat on.” Harry laughed and kissed Draco’s cheek. Draco noticed his mother look over and smirk at him before returning to her conversation with Molly and Andromeda. “Shall I die of embarrassment now, or later?”

“Save it for later, I’d hate to ruin a good party.” He paused and looked at Draco seriously. “Am I really embarrassing you? Do you want me to move?”

“Not badly, no, but you’ll probably want to move eventually. I can’t imagine sitting like this will be comfortable for either of us after too long. My legs are already starting to fall asleep.”

“Are you calling me fat?” Harry’s outrage was feigned, but Draco still groaned and rolled his eyes.

“Yes, Harry, you’re huge,” he deadpanned. “McGonagall wrote and asked if you’d replace the Fat Lady in that awful portrait, actually.”

“You’re a prick, you know,” Harry laughed. He glanced around the room, stopping for a moment to briefly stare at Molly, Andromeda, and Narcissa. “I’d say this party had a good turnout, if those three are managing a pleasant conversation.”

“Awe, look at the cute ickle couple!” Dean said as he and Seamus came to stand in front of them. “You two are getting quite cosy, aren’t you? Shall we all leave and give you some privacy?”

“Oh shut up, we’ve witnessed you both take a bathroom break at the pub and not come back for twenty minutes,” Draco said with a mock sneer. “I highly doubt the two of you can match your shits up so perfectly. Care to explain?” Seamus blanched and sputtered, but Dean laughed loudly at Draco’s comeback. 

“You’re a riot. Can’t believe it took us so long to become friends, with your humour. Thanks for inviting us, by the way. Great choice with the firewhiskey, too.”

“Only the best for Draco Malfoy,” Harry sighed teasingly. “Thanks for coming, though. We weren’t sure how many people would turn up.”

The four of them continued to chat and joke around for a while. As the night went on and people got more inebriated, they also got louder, and soon enough Andromeda and Teddy were leaving to head home. She hugged both Draco and Harry, kissing their cheeks in turn, before she left to return to her new house. It was really nice to know that Teddy was taken care of for the evening so that Harry and Draco could enjoy themselves— and the firewhiskey— guilt free. 

It was around one in the morning that Draco thought they should probably start preparing to end the evening, but as soon as Harry interrupted the festivities George cut him off. Not for anything important— no, what he’d wanted was to start a group sing-along to Bohemian Rhapsody, he was informed the song was called. He could’ve sworn he hadn’t put a Queen album in with the playlist, but as soon as George began singing off key and far too loudly, everyone joined him. Draco didn’t know many of the words because, while Queen was a wizard band, he hadn’t been allowed to listen to that sort of music as a child and was only just beginning to broaden his musical horizon thanks to Harry. 

“I see a little silhouetto of a man—” George led the tune and then Bill followed him up with a loud, “Scaramouch, scaramouch will you do the fandango!” 

Toward the end of the song, right before a rowdy guitar kicked in, they all sang “Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me!” A very high note was sang confidently by Narcissa, who happened to be the only one able to reach the note accurately. Draco hadn’t even noticed his mother singing along with the rest, hadn’t imagined that she’d heard the song before or knew the words, but as soon as she hit that perfect pitch everyone turned to stare at her in amazement.

As the verse ended and Narcissa had stopped signing, everyone continued to gaze at her for a moment, silently. Then they all began clapping, cheering, and whistling for her. She smiled as though she were embarrassed, but Draco knew better. He could see that she was proud of herself for having caught everyone’s attention, even if she hadn’t done so on purpose, which Draco suspected she had. Still, he was glad to see that she was having a good time and participating in the silly bits of the evening. It seemed she was serious about letting loose; Draco had never seen her sing publicly or drink quite as much as she had that night. He was forced to admit that Harry had been absolutely right about forgiving her. It seemed to be doing everyone a bit of good, but particularly her.

 

<>

 

“Alright, has everyone got their portkeys home?” Harry asked the room. “Anyone who doesn’t is welcome to crash out here, but there’s limited space, so I hope you won’t mind sleeping on the sofa.” Ron was already passed out on the sofa, a half eaten plate of food on his lap. Hermione was shaking her head and smiling at him. “Er… well, not that sofa, apparently.”

“I think Ron will be staying here for the night,” she said as she took her portkey— a yellow comb— from her purse. “I doubt I’ll be able to wake him, with how much he’s drank.”

“That’s alright, I’ll fetch him a blanket,” Draco told her as he hugged her goodbye. 

“Nobody who has been drinking should Apparate home, okay?” Harry advised. “The Floo is open, but I’d recommend not using it if your speech is so slurred you can’t name your address properly.”

“Don’t be such a ninny,” George scoffed as he stumbled toward Harry for a sloppy hug goodbye. “We’re not idiots, Harry.”

As those who weren’t staying began leaving for the night Draco and Harry gave them all embraces and kisses goodbye, thanking them for joining them and making a new happy memory for their home. Only Dean, Seamus, and Ron were left in their drawing room by the time everyone else had gone. Ron was still slumped over on the sofa. Dean and Seamus were snogging in one of the armchairs and it looked like it was getting quite heated.

“Listen, you two, if you’re going to have sex please do it in a different room from Ron. I’d hate to hear him complain about that for the next decade,” Harry told them with a slightly disapproving look.

“We’re _not,_ ” Seamus said with a hiccup, completely ruining any success in his attempt to defend himself. “Juss foolin’ around.”

“Right,” Harry drawled. “At least cast a silencing charm.”

“Cushty, mate,” Dean told him. Harry shook his head and pulled Draco out of the room by his hand, leading the way upstairs to the bathroom.

After their teeth were cleaned— there was nothing quite like waking up with a hangover and a mouth tasting of toadstools boiled in piss— they lay down in their bed and decided to take a lesson from Dean and Seamus, but they did make sure to cast a silencing charm beforehand. Ron might have been utterly legless, but Harry hadn’t wanted to risk him waking up to whatever sounds they happened to make.

Well shagged, and yet again floating in the comfortable afterglow that overtook him, Draco and Harry snuggled up against each other and discussed the party a bit before letting a drunken sleep overtake them.

“I still can’t believe your mum sang like that,” Harry tittered, shaking his head a bit in wonder. “I knew you could sing, but I didn’t know you’d got your talent from her.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me yet, love. She’s a very good singer, but I’m as surprised as you are that she showed off tonight.”

“I’m just glad everyone enjoyed themselves and no fights broke out.”

“You and me both,” Draco agreed. “Did you see how my mother and Molly got along?”

“I did. Sort of incredible that everyone’s starting to come together so well. I don’t think I ever could’ve pictured all of those people in one room having a good time together.”

“Well, we’ve seen proof tonight that it’s possible, at least. The alcohol probably helped. Though I’m surprised you didn’t have any of the whiskey; it was really good.” Harry’s cheeks heated and he was very glad that they’d chosen such dark curtains for their windows, as it was too dark for Draco to notice.

“I might’ve been a bit nervous to drink it,” he admitted. 

“Oh, right. Mother.” At least Draco didn’t sound offended. “She was on her best behaviour tonight. I’m kind of impressed with her.”

“I am too, but it’ll take me awhile to feel comfortable trusting an open bottle of anything when she’s in the room. Or food, for that matter.”

“Yeah, I noticed you kept going to the kitchen to get food.” Draco sounded suspicious and Harry laughed before explaining that Kreacher had kept a plate of food separate for him so that he didn’t have to feel paranoid all night. “He could’ve done that with the whiskey, too, you know.”

“I honestly didn’t even think about that…”

“Surprise, surprise,” Draco teased, tickling Harry’s side a bit and causing him to flinch away in the bed. Around his snickers, Draco asked, “Do you remember how nervous we used to be around each other?”

“How could I forget? I hid in my room for days because I was scared about thinking you’re pretty.”

“I hid in _my_ room because I was scared about being in love with you. And I’m not pretty, I am stunning.”

“My apologies for the inferior compliment, Sir Beauty Itself. We’ve come so far in such a short time, don’t you think?”

“I would have to agree. We’re made it through some awful events, but it seems like things are starting to look up. Based on the turnout of our housewarming party I’d have to say we’ve got quite a nice family.”

“We do. Now let’s get some sleep before we have to deal with those hungover arseholes tomorrow.”

 

The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for the epilogue! Thank you so much to those who have stuck around with the story until the end!


	33. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here is an epilogue for you to enjoy. We are soooo sorry it’s taken this long to finish the fic and hope you’ll forgive us. Life has been immensely hectic these past months and writing has seemed like an impossible task. Anyway, without further ado, our epilogue. 
> 
> For whatever reason the italic coding isn't working at a certain part of this chapter, no matter what I try, so I've tried to make it clear that it's meant to be in italics without making things confusing. Apologies in advanced.

The letter in Harry’s hands was too good to be true. It had to be. It had been almost three years since Harry had begun his efforts to change the laws regarding LGBT people and finally— fucking finally— it looked like his work had paid off. Hermione had Floo’d earlier that sunday morning to tell him she’d read the paper and found out that Cole had published about the laws changing, but Harry hadn’t read the paper that day. He thought Hermione must’ve been joking and told her as much— every time he’d thought the laws in question were sure to be passed, so far, he was met with nothing but disappointment— but when Draco came bursting into the kitchen holding the _Prophet_ , interrupting his conversation with Hermione to shout the same thing to him, Harry was forced to recognise that he’s succeeded. 

The Ministry— or the Wizengamot and Kingsley, more specifically— had written a congratulatory letter detailing which laws had been passed and how many votes had made it possible. Hermione was just as much to thank as he was, but since all the petitions were filed under his name they’d only contacted him about it. More than three quarters of those who’d participated in the voting had chosen yes on Harry’s proposal to allow transgender and same-sex couples to marry. Nearly sixty percent of them had voted yes to make it illegal to discriminate against people due to their gender or sexual orientation during the hiring process. The law that restricted public displays of affection between same-sex and trans people had been revoked as well. There was still more to do to ensure equality in their legal system, but Harry had made more progress these past three years than he ever thought realistically possible. 

“Draco, we did it,” he said quietly as he set the letter down on the kitchen table and let himself sink into the realisation. “We actually did it.”

“ _You_ did it, more like. I wasn’t the one convincing people they were being idiots, you were.” Draco wrapped his arms around Harry and began kissing the edge of his jaw. “Took them long enough to figure it out.”

“I never would’ve thought to start this process if it hadn’t been for you. You deserve just as much credit as I do.” Harry embraced his inspiration in return and let himself relax against him. 

“Whatever you say. I think this calls for celebration.” It took no effort for Harry to gather what Draco was suggesting and he agreed completely. 

“Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?” Harry asked in a sultry voice. Draco gave him a sly look and slowly walked away toward the kitchen cupboard.

“Oh, you mean…” He paused to take out their favourite tin of tea which had stopped being made several months back. No matter how many times they’d tried duplicating it, it never tasted right. “ _This?_ ” He held out one of their last remaining tins of it, the one they’d only been breaking into on special occasions. 

“God, yes,” Harry sighed, his tongue already providing him a phantom taste of what was to come.

 

<>

 

“ _Teddy!_ Get down from there this instant!” Harry dropped his gardening tools and ran across the backyard toward the edge of the house. Teddy stood at the edge of the roof and was peering around curiously beyond where Harry stood. “We’ve talked about this, haven’t we?”

“I’m trying to see Hogwarts, Not-Dad!” Teddy called down to him, his hand above his brow, shielding his face from the bright summer sun. That’s what he’d been calling Harry since he’d asked why he and Draco weren’t his dads. Harry and Draco had explained that because he already had a dad they couldn’t be his dads, but that they were filling in for Remus in a way. It was this waggish child’s way of being funny when he knew he was in trouble, and it didn’t fail to make Harry chuckle at that moment, just like it hadn’t any other time Teddy had called him or Draco ‘Not-Dad.’ 

“Well you won’t be able to from here, we live too far from Hogwarts. Get down _now_.” Teddy groaned and lowered his hand, looking down at Harry in defiance. 

“I _want_ to see _Hogwarts!_ ” 

“You’re not going to get your way talking to me like that and you know it.” Harry placed a hand on his hip. “Get off the roof and we can talk about this down here, on the ground, where people typically have conversations.”

“Fine,” Teddy muttered angrily as he turned around and walked up the roof, climbing back into the house through the bay window in Harry and Draco’s bedroom. 

If Draco were at home, and not out teaching cello to his usual crowd of students, Harry would be having a talk with him as well. He’d asked him too many times to make sure he had placed a locking charm on the door to their room before leaving it so that Teddy couldn’t get into it anymore. This wasn’t a first offense on Teddy’s part, and if they continued to leave their room accessible it wouldn’t be the last. Sure, Harry could go upstairs and lock the door himself— and fully intended to once he and Teddy had talked— but the point was that he’d asked Draco to do it on his way out for the day. 

“I was only trying to see the astromy tower,” Teddy said in his own defence as he came slouching out of the house. “I wasn’t gonna fall.”

“It’s astronomy, and you can’t know for sure if you wouldn’t have fallen,” Harry scolded. “I’ve already explained to you that we live too far from Scotland for you see _any_ of Hogwarts from the roof. If you want to see the school so badly you could ask Draco and I to take you to it— or your gran, or Molly, or Great Aunt Cissy, for that matter. Any one of us would gladly take you.”

“But I want to see it by myself,” Teddy whined, slouching even further. 

“Er… no. That’s not likely. You’re too young to go places unaccompanied.”

“What’s uh-compamy?” 

“Unaccompanied means alone,” Harry explained patiently. “Do you really want to go see Hogwarts?” He kneeled in front of Teddy and peered questioningly into his eyes, which were half hidden by turquoise fringe. Teddy just stubbed the toe of his shoe into the grass by way of response. “Because we can take a trip to see the school. It wouldn’t be a problem.”

“I want to be sorted,” Teddy mumbled quietly. Harry sighed; they’d had this talk before, too. “I want to be in Slythendor.” Ever since Harry and Draco had told him their respective houses Teddy had been saying that; he couldn’t decide which one he wanted to be in more, so he figured he could be in a combination of the two.

“I know it’s exciting to think about, but you’re still too young. You have to be eleven to go to Hogwarts and be sorted. It won’t take too long; you’ve only got five years left to wait.”

“Why can’t it be _now_ , Harry?” Teddy’s large eyes bored into Harry’s pleadingly. 

“Because time is a cruel mistress. It likes to move much too slowly when we wish it would hurry, and much too fast when we wish it would halt.” Teddy’s expression betrayed his confusion and Harry smiled. “What about tomorrow? I can owl the Headmistress and ask permission to give you a tour.” Immediately perking up, Teddy spun around in a circle and stomped his feet, punching the air above his head.  
“Yes, yes yes! Hogwarts, Snogshorts, Logmorts, Fogborts! _Hogwaaaaaarts!_ ” Teddy sang as he continued to stomp around joyfully. 

Taking him to see Hogwarts would force him to take a day off gardening, but he was sure the plants would survive without him for a day. Draco would be reluctant to go, but if Teddy told him— which he definitely would— how much it meant to him, his other not-dad would be putty in his hand. 

 

<>

 

Ron was pacing back and forth in the antechamber of the chapel where he’d got dressed, nervously eyeing the clock hanging on the wall. He’d been doing it for long enough that Draco couldn’t keep his mouth shut any longer. 

“You’re driving me insane, and if I have to watch you panic any longer I’m going to hex you,” he said calmly as he continued to distractedly read the book he’d brought to pass the time. He wasn’t due to head to the chapel yet, so he’d offered to help everyone with hair and attire because, let’s face it, he was probably the most qualified to do so. 

“ _You’re _the one who’s going insane?” Ron asked, stopping his pacing for a moment to gawk at Draco. “ _I’m_ about to get married and _you’re_ the one going mad?”__

__“Yes, as hard as it may be for you to wrap your malnourished brain around it.”_ _

__“I don’t have the patience to listen to your bloody insults right now, Draco, so if you can’t keep your tongue in check you can go wait in the pews,” Ron snapped, just like Draco had wanted him to. At least if he were angry he would be focusing his attention on something other than his ‘big day.’_ _

__“How long have you two been engaged now?” Ignoring Ron’s quip, Draco continued attempting to distract Ron from his pacing._ _

__“Eight years, almost,” Ron said after counting on his fingers._ _

__“Exactly. Shouldn’t that be enough time to accept the fact that you’re happily in love and she’s not going to leave you? Honestly, I don’t see why you’re making such a huge deal out of this.”_ _

__“Easy for you to say, you and Harry aren’t getting married,” Ron scoffed. Draco averted his gaze. He and Harry had discussed marriage a lot over the years, but neither of them had decided whether or not that was something they’d like to have between them._ _

__“That’s beside the point,” Draco argued. “You are but a moment away from being wed to the woman of your dreams. You’ve been waiting for this for nearly eight years, you have a _child_ together, for crying out loud… what do you honestly think could go so terribly wrong in the next thirty minutes? Just relax.” Ron stood there staring nonplussed at Draco as he explained how ridiculous he was being. It was strange, even to Draco, that he was the one offering comfort on Ron’s wedding day rather than Harry, but Harry was otherwise occupied at the moment, much to Draco’s chagrin._ _

__“Yeah…” Ron took a deep breath, steadying himself. “Yeah. Really puts things in perspective, when you say it like that. Thanks, mate.” Draco flinched a bit as Ron clapped him on the back and his face began to change back to it’s normal shade._ _

__“Right,” Draco said, shrugging Ron’s hand off him. “The Bride To Be had better thank me later for saving her the embarrassment of walking down the aisle toward the Green Goblin.”_ _

__“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ron said slowly. Draco rolled his eyes, but didn’t have a chance to explain the Spider Man comic reference he’d made because Ginny was barging into the room speaking at a rapid pace. As Ginny brought the panic back into Ron’s eyes, Draco wished Teddy were there; he would have understood. It was Teddy, after all, who had introduced Draco to comic books in the first place._ _

__“What are you doing standing around? You’ve got to get in that chapel! Mum’s in a right state. You’re just standing around while the rest of us are waiting for you out there.”_ _

__“W-what?” Ron glanced up at the clock and back to his sister. “But I’ve still got twenty-two minutes!” Ginny cast Tempus and showed that the time was actually ten-till._ _

__“No, you don’t. You need to get into position before Mum cancels the entire wedding.” She turned to regard Draco with her stern glare. “And _you_ need to get get a move on as well, if you’re not planning your own funeral. I hope you practiced the song, for your sake, because Mum is not being selective with her madness.” Draco rolled his eyes and didn’t justify her moody attack with a response. Of course he’d practiced, he’d helped write the rendition of the wedding march he was going to play. _ _

__“Shit, shit, shit, shit!” Ron shouted as he adjusted his tie and handkerchief. So much for keeping the composure Draco had worked so hard to offer him._ _

__Both Weasleys jogged out of the antechamber and Draco decided to head to the main chapel room at a more leisurely pace; he wasn’t the one getting married, after all, and had no reason to be running around like a gnome with its head cut off._ _

__He headed to his chair beside where the wedding crew would be standing and began putting rosin on his bow, nodding hello to the three other string players who were to be playing with him. Once satisfied, he manually tuned his cello, comparing tones with the other three players and their various instruments. Normally he would’ve used a tuning charm, but he had half an audience of muggles before him and didn’t exactly want to get arrested in the middle of a wedding. Draco eyed the congregation he could see in front of him. Hermione’s family was comparatively smaller than Ron’s, but were just as eager looking as the gathered Weasleys. Some even had tears in their eyes already, though Draco wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like weddings were sad experiences most of the time, so why would anyone cry at them? He’d never understood, but then he’d also never been to a wedding before, so he couldn’t give an accurate judgement on the emotional response to them._ _

__At the very front of the room stood Ron, waiting for his bride at the end of the silver carpet. Draco discreetly cast his own Tempus and saw that it was time to start the wedding march he’d altered to Hermione’s approval. Picking up his bow and getting in the proper playing position, he began bowing along with the rest of the quartet._ _

__The doors at the end of the aisle opened, revealing Hermione and her father standing arm-in-arm. Her hair was done in much neater curls by Draco’s own styling, and there were pearl hairpins keeping her lace veil and train in place on her head. She looked stunning, and Draco had to compliment himself on having worked a miracle on her._ _

__Hermione carried a beautiful bouquet that Molly had designed with George’s help, of all people. Draco remembered being apprehensive about that set up, but who was he to argue with the bride and groom’s decisions in regards to their own wedding?_ _

__They began their slow descent down the aisle toward a very pale looking Ron. _At least he’s not still that sickly green shade,_ Draco commented within the privacy of his own thoughts. Cole began snapping pictures of the procession, moving around the room quickly and managing to stay out of the way all at once, to capture the best angles of the bride and her entourage as they progressed._ _

__Behind Hermione walked Harry and Ginny, also arm-in-arm, and behind them were Fleur and George, the latter of which was inspecting his boutonniere rather suspiciously. Draco chalked it up to wedding jitters, which he supposed could be picked up by those involved aside from the bride and groom. Following them were Luna and Neville, the last couple in the train of groomsmen and bridesmaids._ _

__Slowly, as the quartet played, they all made their way up to the pulpit. Hermione’s cheeks were tinted pink and the colour only deepened the closer she got to her future husband. Finally she and her father came to a stop before the priest and Ron, and the quartet let the final notes trail off into silence._ _

__The priest said a few words about giving Hermione away and her father, with tears in his eyes, kissed her cheek and let her go to stand beside Ron. The bridesmaids went to stand along Hermione’s side of the church and the groomsmen took Ron’s side, with Ginny and Harry standing closest to the bride and groom as best man and maid of honour. Draco wondered vaguely why he wasn’t struck with jealousy, watching Harry and Ginny walk down the aisle together, but realised that it had something to do with the friendship they’d formed between themselves over the years. It helped that she was now dating another man— a very recent development, seeing as he hadn’t come along as her plus-one to the wedding. He was proud of himself for becoming so integrated with Harry’s chosen family, even going so far as referring to them as his own family from time to time. Ginny had become something like an obstreperous little sister, and it was rare that he thought of her as Harry’s ex anymore, something he also had to be proud of._ _

__More words were said by the priest, words which Draco paid little notice to as his eyes were trained on Harry and his mind was taking in the comfortable way he stood at the front of everything. Years ago, Harry would’ve been nervous to be even near the centre of attention. Things really had changed, and he and Harry had changed right with those things. It was incredible to observe, as well as the way Harry’s suit fit him so nicely. That was part of Draco’s distraction, too, inevitably. Even years after they’d become an item he still found his breath taken away by how intensely fond he was of Harry and his appearance. Age had only added to Harry’s features, in Draco’s opinion._ _

__“I vow to love you unconditionally,” Hermione was saying when Draco finally did decide to listen in, “And to continue standing by you in times of hardship and success alike. We’ve gone through…” She paused and inhaled shakily, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. “So much together. We’ve fought so many battles side-by-side, gone through hell and back and weathered storms very few people could fully imagine—” A very loud sniffle interrupted Hermione’s vows and Draco was sure it had come from Molly. “Ronald Weasley, I love you more than I could ever say. For the rest of our lives I will love you, even while I’m lecturing you on leaving the seat up in the loo.”_ _

__The entire room began chuckling and giggling at that comment, a necessary bout of comic relief when things were beginning to feel heavy. Even Draco had been touched by the emotion behind Hermione’s vows, though he’d previously claimed he would be unaffected. His eyes had begun to water and he admitted that it wasn’t too odd that people might cry at a time like this._ _

__“I love you too, Hermione,” Ron started, his voice wobbling severely. “I promise to always consider your feelings and respect the woman you’ve become. I promise to continue to support you in your many, many endeavors, as I’m sure you’ll never give up your amazing drive. I promise to try to remember putting the seat down, and I’ll quit dog-earring your books.”_ _

__“You’d better,” Hermione laughed, smiling lovingly at Ron’s solemn expression._ _

__They finished their vows and the priest continued on with the final bits of his speech. Finally, after what seemed like ages but was probably only twenty minutes or so, the rings were put on and the “I do’s” were said. They kissed passionately for a short time before the new wedded couple turned around to face their captive audience, who had already begun clapping. Hermione threw her bouquet and the poor muggle girl who caught it screamed as it burst loudly into confetti and smoke. Simultaneously, all of the corsages and boutonnieres did the same, causing the groomsmen and bridesmaids to shout in dismay._ _

__Draco burst into laughter. Of course George had rigged up the flowers, why else would he have asked to help with them? He had been right to assume George had ulterior motives behind helping with anything, but it turned out to be an adorable end to the wedding. It wouldn’t be a Weasley event if George didn’t pull some sort of prank for it._ _

__As the exodus between wedding and reception began Draco was sure he heard Molly admonishing George for his silly antics, but when Draco looked to observe he saw that Molly was smiling as she did so. The wedding had gone off without a hitch, contrary to Ron’s obvious fear at the beginning of the ceremony._ _

__

__< >_ _

__

__As Draco pulled into the lot outside the train station, Harry felt his heart give a small thump in his chest. He hadn’t realized how long it had been since he last saw King’s Cross. He was pleased to see that most of the major features were just as he remembered them, but the few changes here and there stood as reminders of just how long it had been since he had last been in Teddy’s position, and he was somewhat surprised at the wave of nostalgia that followed._ _

__“Come on, let’s go!” Teddy urged them as he began collecting his owl cage. Harry and Draco laughed at his eager attitude and Harry recalled how different Teddy was from him at the age of eleven. He’d been so terrified and clueless. It was good that Teddy had had people to ready him for getting to the Hogwarts Express properly. Not that he had much fear in general, so perhaps he would’ve been just as eager in any case._ _

__“If you get Stevie I’ll get the luggage,” Draco said as he unbuckled and began leaving the car. Harry did the same and retrieved a sleeping Stevie from her carseat._ _

__“If we don’t hurry we’ll miss it,” Teddy continued, looking incredibly impatient as he stood waiting for his guardians._ _

__“You won’t miss it.” Draco and Harry gave each other a matching look of amused exasperation and finished unloading Teddy’s things from the car._ _

__“Yeah, especially since Draco insisted that we leave _an hour early,_ ” Harry glared at Draco. Nevermind that the comment was meant as a response to Teddy._ _

__“Yes, well, if we had left when you had planned, we would have missed the train,” Draco shot back. “Besides, we’re not even that early, thanks to that accident on the way.”_ _

__“Harry, I can see the steam! It’s going to leave and I’m going to be stuck here with you two bickering!”_ _

__“It’s still barely half-ten, Teddy, and that could be the steam from any of the trains here.” It still surprised Harry how his godson could seem so young and yet so grown up all at the same time._ _

__“Oh. Right. Still, I want to get there early enough that I can get a good seat.”_ _

__“Daddy, where are we?” Stevie piped up in her soft, sleep-rasped voice. “Where is Teddy going to?”_ _

__“Honey, we already told you Teddy’s going to school for the year. You’ll see him soon enough,” Draco said in the sweet voice he always used with their daughter. “Are you going to miss him?”_ _

__“No,” she replied honestly, or at least half so. Harry had a sneaking suspicion that she might change her mind within the week. Until then, though, he had no doubt that she would enjoy the less-divided attention from her fathers and the lack of a pesky almost-older-brother to bother her. “I love you, Teddy. Bye!”_ _

__“I’m not leaving yet, and you’re very rude for a four-year-old,” Teddy grouched._ _

__“I wonder where she learned that from,” Harry mumbled, shooting Draco a halfhearted glare. “Alright, let’s get a move on; we have to pick Laz up from Molly in an hour and… fifteen,” he said after checking his wrist watch._ _

__“Why couldn’t he come with us?” Stevie asked. “I want daddy to hold me now, please.” Harry’s eyebrows furrowed for a moment before he realised what she must’ve meant._ _

__“Daddy _is_ holding you, silly,” Draco replied, tweaking her nose. Nevertheless, he and Harry shuffled around the contents of their arms and the group began heading into the station. “Laz couldn’t come because he’s still too young.”_ _

__“I’m too young and I’m here,” she argued as they approached the brick wall that would transport them to platform 9 and ¾. “Lazzy loves trains, he would be very excited.”_ _

__“That’s true, but I think he would get easily overstimulated,” Draco explained._ _

__“I don’t even know what that means.”_ _

__“It means he would be upset by how much is going on. Train stations are busy places. Alright, Teddy, here’s where you’ll—”_ _

__“Run at the wall, I know,” he interrupted impatiently. “Can we go now? I bet all the best compartments are taken already.” Draco and Harry traded yet another amused look. Harry couldn’t help but think of how nervous he had been when he had first arrived at King’s Cross and was told to go sprinting toward a solid wall. Granted, Teddy had grown up surrounded by magic and would therefore have been much more accustomed to that sort of thing. He wore such a confident face, though (albeit a bit irritable), and Harry felt a small, surprising swell of pride somewhere in the middle of his torso._ _

__Teddy began sprinting toward the wall, causing Draco and Harry to run after him to keep up. They were all spit out onto the busy platform and for a moment neither Draco nor Harry could spot Teddy in the crowd. That is, until they noticed his purple mop of hair sticking out near the entrance to the train._ _

__“You nearly lost us!” Harry shouted as they jogged up to him, panting with the effort of running with a bunch of heavy baggage. Draco would probably suggest casting a weight reducing charm, but it would be pointless now._ _

__“Harry, I’m old enough to know where I’m meant to go, okay?”_ _

__“Hey,” Draco said as he stepped closer to Teddy, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Are you upset about something? You’re acting strangely.”_ _

__“No! I just want to get to school is all.” But it was obvious to the both of them that Teddy was lying. He refused to meet Draco’s eyes and continued glancing all around him. It was a sign that had given away his lies for years and he’d failed to realise it yet, enabling them to catch even the slightest of fibs._ _

__“Right. What’s going on?”_ _

__“Nothing, seriously. Can I please get on the train?”_ _

__“Not until you tell the truth, young man,” Draco stated firmly. “What’s bothering you? Are you embarrassed of us? Because I can assure you that’s quite normal.”_ _

__“I’m not… It’s not that I’m embarrassed, it’s just… What if… what if people don’t want to be my friend because… because I’m your kid?” Understanding and pain seemed to colour Draco’s cheeks, as well as tilt his brows. Teddy seemed to notice too, because he quickly added, “I mean, _I_ know you’re alright, but… the other kids…”_ _

__“That’s what you’re upset about?” Draco could barely be heard over the surrounding platform sounds. The train whistle sounded and whatever Teddy said in response was drowned out to Harry’s ears. “Teddy, anyone who’s concerned about being your friend for reasons like that is probably not a good person to be friends with in the first place.”_ _

__“But you’re a…”_ _

__“I know,” Draco cut in, sounding as though he was regretting his and Harry’s joint decision to explain all age-appropriate aspects of the war to Teddy before school began. They had wanted him to understand what had happened, from both their perspectives, so that he wasn’t left in the dark or taken by surprise if other kids started discussing it. They’d thought it best that it come from them first. Now, though, hearing that Teddy was afraid he wouldn’t make friends because of Draco’s past, Harry had to wonder if that had been a good decision. “And so do lots of other people. There will be kids your age who won’t want to associate with you because of that, you’re right; however, there will be plenty who do, regardless of what I am— or rather, what I used to be. I wouldn’t worry so much about it if I were you. Not to mention, your other guardian is the saviour of the magical world, so that balances things out a bit, doesn’t it?” Harry couldn’t help but to roll his eyes at that comment, but before he could say anything Stevie cut in._ _

__“Daddy, what’s Teddy talking about?” Draco sighed before plastering a cheerful and patient look on his face, directed toward the girl on his hip._ _

__“Things your other daddy and I will explain to you when you’re a bit older, alright?”_ _

__“Am I old enough now? It’s been seconds.” Draco and Harry laughed and this time Teddy rolled his eyes, though he did seem a lot less stressed after having spoken to Draco about his worries._ _

__“Steve, seconds doesn’t make any difference at all. They mean years.”_ _

__“Don’t call me Steve! It’s a boy’s name!”_ _

__“Alright, you two, that’s enough,” Harry said as he wrapped Teddy in a big hug. “You’d better get on the train now, they’ll be departing in the next ten minutes. I’ll load your luggage.”_ _

__“Do I get a hug as well?” Draco asked, and Harry could see just how fragile the smile on his face was. His heart hurt for the man who had done all he could in the past eleven years to atone for his mistakes during the war. While most of his peers accepted him and realised he was different, now he had to deal with the knowledge that not all of them did, which meant their children didn’t either. Harry was sure he was thinking just how much it would be his fault if Teddy ended up being bullied due to his parentage._ _

__“Yeah, I guess,” Teddy mumbled, but as he looked at the pavement there was a smile hidden behind his blond wavy hair._ _

__Draco gave him a hug that lasted far longer than Harry’s hug had, but not once did Teddy pull away until the next train whistle sounded. He climbed onto the train, shouting a last minute goodbye over his shoulder, and disappeared down the corridor. Not long after, Teddy’s face could be seen through one of the windows near the back of the train, looking slightly paler than usual, but every bit as snarky as he typically looked at home. He waved at Harry, Draco, and Stevie once before promptly turning away, seemingly distracted by someone entering his compartment._ _

__“Well look at that, he’s made an acquaintance already,” Harry said with a proud smile._ _

__“Or someone’s come to harass him. I suppose we’ll find out when he writes to us,” Draco grumped. Harry took Draco’s hand and squeezed once, hoping it would offer some comfort._ _

__“What does harass mean?” Stevie asked. “Is it a naughty word?”_ _

__“No, love, harassing someone means to bother someone,” Harry explained. “And I doubt that’s what’s happening. Unless his first Hogwarts Express experience is anything like mine,” he added with a teasing smile directed toward Draco._ _

__“Oh, please,” Draco scoffed. “I did not harass you, I merely wanted to meet you and make my presence known to the Boy Who Lived.”_ _

__“Who’s the Boy Who Lived?” Stevie asked. “Is it Uncle Neville?” Draco and Harry shared a strange look._ _

__“Er, no… We’ll explain that when you’re a bit older, too, alright love?” Stevie groaned and dropped her face into Draco’s shoulder._ _

__“Why does everything have to be when I’m older? Teddy gets to know stuff, I want to, too!” Draco and Harry shared another look, but one that they shared quite frequently; one of long-suffering._ _

__“How about this,” Draco said, patience coating every word. “What if we tell you something else? What if… What if your daddy and I tell you how we met?”_ _

__“You didn’t always know each other?”_ _

__“No, not always,” Harry said with a laugh. “But for a long time, we have. Would you like to know how we met, Stevie?” She took a moment to consider this, probably weighing her options in her mind._ _

__“Alright,” she said slowly. “Yes, alright. I’d like to know.”_ _

__“Then after the train leaves— which it looks like it’ll be doing any second now— your daddy and I will tell you all about it. How about on the car ride home?” Stevie grinned ear to ear and Draco planted a kiss right in the centre her forehead._ _

__“Look! Daddies, look! It’s leaving!” Stevie shouted as the train began it’s slow start to departure._ _

__“Indeed it is,” Draco agreed. “Let’s all wave goodbye to Teddy!”_ _

__

__< >_ _

__

__“It’s gotta be Slytherin,” Harry argued firmly, crossing his arms. “There’s no way he’s not in Slytherin.”_ _

__“Unless he’s in Gryffindor,” Draco pointed out. “Which he most definitely will be. You’ve had too strong an effect on him and he’s too daring to be in Slytherin. We Slytherin are tactful rather than brash, something you never quite learned, and have now passed on to Teddy,” he teased._ _

__“Fuck off,” Harry laughed. “He’s sneaky just like you, a born leader, determined, and to top that off, he’s just as obsessed with snakes as you are, you weirdo. There’s no way he won’t be put in Slytherin.” Draco rolled his eyes, ignoring the comment about snake obsession, which he obviously didn’t have. Just because he owned four snakes didn’t mean he was obsessed._ _

__“I suppose we’ll just have to open the letter and find out, won’t we? Loser has to wash the dishes without magic for a week.” Upon Harry’s gasp of outrage, Draco carefully peeled open the first letter they’d received from Teddy since he’d left for school._ _

__

__' _Hey, Not-Dads, _'___ _

____' _You’ll never believe what happened on the train ride to school! First, as soon as I sit down in my compartment, this bloke named Stone Zabini comes barging in demanding to sit next to me. He wouldn’t shut up the whole way to school, going on and on about “My dad,” this, and “My mum,” that. After a while I ended up interrupting him to ask if he likes Quidditch, and then we talked about something interesting for once. He’s not so bad, I guess, but he talks way too much._ '_ _ _ _

____“Oh yeah, I forgot Blaise’s kid was Teddy’s age. He seems so much younger,” Draco commented, interrupting Harry’s reading of the letter._ _ _ _

____“Yeah, well he sounds a lot like how Hermione was first year,” Harry piped up, glancing at Draco to smirk. “So I guess we were both right; he was being harassed and making his first acquaintance.” Draco frowned contemplatively and kept reading._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____' _Anyway, the second thing is, after a bit the trolly lady came in and we bought the same exact candy without even meaning to. Talk about weird, right? I didn’t think anyone else in the whole world liked Licorice Skrewts except me, but so does Zabini. By the end of the train ride I decided he could be my friend, jabbering aside._ '_ _ _ _

____' _When we got to the castle there were a bunch of people who were scared, but not me. I was ready to be sorted and eat. The candy doesn’t fill you up much, does it? I swear I could’ve eaten a real blast-ended skrewt, I was so hungry._ '_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____“See? Bravery,” Draco said, pointing to the line Teddy wrote about not being scared. “Definitely Gryffindor.”_ _ _ _

____“Shut up, I’m trying to read,” Harry snapped half-heartedly._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____' _Stone and I stood next to each other through the whole sorting, which took forever. All I could think about were the feasts you two have told me about, and what I wanted to eat first. I think everyone heard my stomach growling the whole time, too._ '_ _ _ _

____' _Then it was my turn and I wasn’t hungry anymore. I wasn’t scared, not really, just a bit nervous. When I got on the stool I didn’t know what to expect, I just thought I’d take whatever house they’d put me in. I know you guys always argue about whether I’ll be in Gryffindor or Slytherin, and I think I thought about it when McGonagall put the hat on my head, because the hat asked me if I wanted to be in one of those houses. I didn’t really know what to say, so I sort of thought, “Uhhh,” and the hat yelled out, “HUFFLEPUFF,” before I could even answer it properly._ '_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____“Are you kidding me?” Draco gasped. “Hufflepuff! I never even guessed— I thought for sure, Gryffindor!”_ _ _ _

____“I’m not all that surprised, honestly.”_ _ _ _

____“Sure you’re not.”_ _ _ _

____“No, really. Tonks was in Hufflepuff, why not her son?” Harry reminded him._ _ _ _

____Draco thought for a moment, then nodded his head in acceptance. “I suppose that makes sense, though his father was in Gryffindor, so really it could’ve gone either way, if you use that logic. Now, what are we going to do about that bet with the dishes?”_ _ _ _

____“Well…” Harry trailed off, looking confused. “Er… I guess… Erm, what if we both take turns doing the dishes and teaching Stevie how to do them by hand? She’s old enough to learn, isn’t she?”_ _ _ _

____Draco felt his eyes widen in concern. Their daughter, being made to clean? The thought was a terrible one. He’d never done the dishes until Kreacher passed away several years back. Neither he nor Harry felt it would be right to hire another house elf, and neither wanted to deal with Hermione should they decide it was a good idea after all. This meant they did all their own house work, taking tips and tricks from Molly. Teddy cleaned, of course, but… Draco paused in his thoughts. _Teddy cleans. Which means it would be unfair to keep our other children from cleaning, once they reach appropriate ages… which Stevie has now reached. Shite._ _ _ _ _

____“That’s fair,” he finally said aloud with a sigh. Then, seeing Harry’s poorly held back laughter, he narrowed his eyes. “What?”_ _ _ _

____“Oh, nothing, I could just see the wheels and cogs turning in your head.” Draco narrowed his eyes further and struggled not to laugh, too._ _ _ _

____“Yes, something your head could do more often,” he drawled with a faux sneer. Harry barked a laugh and lightly shoved Draco’s shoulder._ _ _ _

____“You’re getting bitter in your old age, you know that? Let’s finish the letter.”_ _ _ _

____“I am _not_ old,” Draco muttered, and even that sounded bitter to his ears. Perhaps Harry was right, but he’d never admit it to him._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____' _So I’m in Hufflepuff now. Sorry if that bothers you, but I personally like the fact that the common room is so close to the kitchens. Not much of a fan of the colour yellow, but it’s not so bad, really. The common room is full of plants and it reminds me of Harry’s garden, so in a way it feels like home. Maybe I’m meant to be in this house. My mum was, so I think it’s kind of cool._ '_ _ _ _

____' _Anyway, I gotta play gobstones with Stone now. He asked me earlier and I said I had to write to you guys first, and since there’s nothing really left to say I guess I can’t avoid it anymore. Oh, he got sorted Hufflepuff, too. He said his dad’s going to be disappointed, but I think he’ll get over it._ '_ _ _ _

____' _I love you,_ '_ _ _ _

____' _Teddy L._ '_ _ _ _

____' _P.S_ '_ _ _ _

____' _How do you get someone to shut up when all they do is talk? Also tell Stevie and Laz I said hi._ '_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Harry and Draco both chuckled as they finished up the letter. It seemed as though Teddy and Blaise’s son were going to be friends, even if the lad couldn’t keep from vomiting words constantly. Draco thought of Hermione and knew that if Harry and Ron could put up with her then Teddy could put up with Stone Zabini’s overactive tongue. And, from the way Harry told it, Hermione had gotten a lot better about her own overactive tongue over the years, so perhaps the same would be true for Stone._ _ _ _

____“What do you think about Zabini’s kid being in Hufflepuff?” Harry asked with a sly smile._ _ _ _

____“I think it serves him right, the git,” Draco said as he leaned back on the sofa, allowing for Harry to lay his head on his lap._ _ _ _

____“You’re not still mad about that, are you?” Draco simply shrugged and Harry snorted. “It’s been five years. Can’t you get over it?”_ _ _ _

____“Harry, love… No.”_ _ _ _

____“Oh, come on. It was funny.”_ _ _ _

____“Having an entire cheese fondue fountain poured over my very new, and very expensive, suit was not funny in the slightest. Sure, ‘it was an accident,’ whatever. _I_ know… _I_ saw his face.”_ _ _ _

____“It was a good lesson, though, in the end. Now we know better than to incorporate cheese fountains in our house party menus. Someone was bound to knock it over eventually, with how much everyone drank that night.”_ _ _ _

____“Right, and it just so happened to be Blaise, and it just so happened to be when I was standing precisely on the other side of it, eh?” Draco scoffed. “Accident my arse.”_ _ _ _

____“It was funny!” Harry insisted. “And he bought you a new suit, so what does it matter anyway?”_ _ _ _

____“It was not funny, and it’s especially not funny that Ginny has been referring to me as Queso Malfoy for five years.” Harry’s breath was shaky with repressed giggles._ _ _ _

____“No,” he choked out, “You’re absolutely r-right.”_ _ _ _

____“Oh, shut up.”_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____< >_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Frantically searching for the number five shaped candle he’d just had in his hand three seconds ago, Harry began to realise he was panicking and attempted to calm down a bit with some deep breathing. The party was already in motion, guests had arrived nearly an hour before, and yet the cake was not even frosted yet, and was therefore not finished. Well, that wasn’t completely true; the first cake had been finished the night before, Draco had made sure of that. Somehow, though all three culprits— or children, rather— claimed to have nothing to do with it, the original birthday cake had been devoured sometime in the middle of the previous night. So Harry and Draco had had to buy all new ingredients and worked all morning in shifts making Lazarus’ specific, wild request of a cake._ _ _ _

____“Not sure who in their right mind would ask for an asparagus flavored cake, but what do I know?” Harry muttered quietly to himself. “Where in the bloody fuck did that candle go?” As soon as the question left his mouth he spotted the wax number five on the mantle ledge of the fireplace. Of course he’d set it down in the strangest, most unlikely spot._ _ _ _

____Shaking his head, he decided firmly to stop being such a nervous wreck over a candle. He flicked his wand, directing the green frosting onto the sickly coloured cake, and let the butter knife do the work for him. Then, having done that, he stuck the candle in the centre and levitated the cake upstairs to the dining room._ _ _ _

____“There you are,” Draco said, coming to take the cake from thin air to place it on the table. “What took you so long? Laz has been singing Happy Birthday to himself for the last two minutes straight.”_ _ _ _

____“I couldn’t find the candle,” Harry admitted sheepishly, grinning hugely in the hopes that Draco would simply roll his eyes and move past his slowness._ _ _ _

____Draco rolled his eyes and said, “Of course.” Then, directing his words at the huge gathering of family and friends, he began loudly singing Happy Birthday._ _ _ _

____Everyone joined in on the song, and Harry sent a discreet Incendio over to the candle, lighting it just before the song ended. Molly strode over to stand behind Lazarus, wrapping her motherly arms around his shoulders and kissing his cheek noisily._ _ _ _

____“Oh, I just can’t believe you’ve grown so much already! It seems like just yesterday you were a little baby, screaming at all hours of the night.” Lazarus pursed his lips and looked up at Molly seriously._ _ _ _

____“Gram, I’m not a baby no more. I’m a big kid,” he said sternly. “Daddy’s say so every time I’m in trouble.” Feeling the blush of embarrassment spreading through his cheeks, Harry began slicing the cake into large pieces._ _ _ _

____“Who wants a piece?” he asked the crowd._ _ _ _

____“Not me,” Ron said, eyeing the cake in disgust. “Asparagus cake… No thanks.”_ _ _ _

____“I never thought I’d see the day you’d turn down cake,” Hermione said with a chuckle. “I’ll try it.”_ _ _ _

____Most people opted out of the cake, as Harry and Draco had both guessed would happen, but that didn’t bother Laz in the slightest, as it meant more for him. Harry had the strongest feeling that he’d been the sneak who’d eaten the cake last night._ _ _ _

____“So, Queso Malfoy,” Ginny piped up, once the kids were all outside playing in the garden. “How’s work been?”_ _ _ _

____“I might feel more inclined to answer you if you’d use my real name,” Draco said politely, though Harry could hear the distaste lightly coating his tone._ _ _ _

____“He’s been teaching bigger classes than usual,” Harry supplied. “Haven’t you?” Draco sighed, apparently resigning himself to the use of his hated nickname._ _ _ _

____“Yes, I have. It’s been wonderful, as usual. The ones who haven’t played much catch on quickly and the ones who have played a bit are happy with their assigned sheet music. No complaints from the parents, either, for once. That’s a nice change.”_ _ _ _

____“Right, I remember your story about that one batty mum… I don’t know how you put up with that, honestly,” Ginny said, her eyes filling with genuine sympathy, around the humor that was also there. “I wasn’t even aware people could sue over classes that haven’t been taken yet.”_ _ _ _

____“They can’t.”_ _ _ _

____“She certainly tried, though.”_ _ _ _

____“She did. I didn’t care as much about that,” Draco said with a shrug. “The part that bothered me was that she took her daughter out of the class after getting her hopes up. That little girl could’ve gone so far as a cellist, if her audition said anything. Hopefully her mother put her into another class.”_ _ _ _

____“I hope so too,” Ginny said before standing up and peering out the window at the back garden, searching for her twins. “I’d better go check on Layla and Jack. Merlin knows what those two are getting up to.”_ _ _ _

____“Probably whatever Rose tells them to,” Harry commented, laughing at Ginny’s middle finger as she walked away. “This is a children’s party, behave!”_ _ _ _

____“Says the one who taught Laz how to say ‘fuck off,’” Draco mumbled, looking intently at his cuticles._ _ _ _

____“Fuck off, it was an accident,” Harry chuckled again._ _ _ _

____“What was an accident? Queso’s birth?” Ron asked as he plopped himself heavily into one of the empty armchairs, nearly spilling the plate of appetisers he carried._ _ _ _

____“Actually, the birth was incredibly planned out,” Draco replied, sounding unaffected by the jibe. “You’ve probably realised by now how much my mother likes to go over the top for things of little importance. It was the conception that wasn’t done purposely. Though, with married purebloods, having children is usually the point, isn’t it? You should know better than anyone,” he finished with a sly smirk. Draco seemed to delight over the mild shade of pink Ron’s face turned at the thinly veiled insult._ _ _ _

____“How’s Ginny doing with the twins?” Harry asked Ron, knowing that Ginny herself would say that everything was fine, regardless of whether or not it truly was._ _ _ _

____Ron’s face took on a look of disdain combined with what could only be hatred. “She’d be doing a lot better if that deadbeat would step up and pay even a knut of support,” he grumbled, then stabbed a bit of food on his plate with a bit too much enthusiasm. “She hasn’t heard a word from him since he left. You’d think he’d at least want to see the kids every now and then. Apparently he’s got better things to do.” Harry cleared his throat, almost regretting bringing up the subject. He hadn’t meant to ruin anyone’s mood, he’d only been curious._ _ _ _

____“Is Gavin helping out with them much?” he asked, hoping that would turn the conversation around. Ron rolled his eyes and took another bite of food before responding around a mouthful._ _ _ _

____“She seems to think so. He can’t really hold down a job to save himself, but he makes enough money when he is employed.”_ _ _ _

____“Doesn’t Ginny make enough on her own to support them all?” Draco piped up._ _ _ _

____“Well, yeah, but that’s beside the point, isn’t it? He’s the man of the house, he should be trying harder to support them… too…” Ron trailed off as Hermione came storming over, arms crossed and appearing to have very little patience for Ron’s statement._ _ _ _

____“Is that so, Ronald?” she asked, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. Draco, of course, was snickering by this point. “It’s interesting that you should say that, because if our bank statements are in any way accurate I make over twice what you do as an Auror. Now why would that be?”_ _ _ _

____“Hermione, you know I didn’t mean—”_ _ _ _

____“Didn’t mean what? Didn’t mean to sound so misogynistic right in front of your wife? Didn’t mean to imply that Ginny can’t handle her own finances? Didn’t mean to forget that your sister makes more than you do, too? What exactly didn’t you mean?” Harry sat back and watched with amusement as his two best friends had a typical argument. Draco wasn’t even bothering to hide his laughter anymore._ _ _ _

____“No, that’s not— I was just trying to say that… as Ginny’s husband, he should be… trying to keep stable employment. Is that so wrong?”_ _ _ _

____“If that’s what you were trying to say you should’ve said that, leaving out the bit about him being the man of the house,” Hermione countered, not backing down. “What if Rose had heard you talking that way? Do you want your daughter to think she needs a man to take care of her? Do you want her to develop codependent tendencies at such a young age?” Ron looked horrified at the thought._ _ _ _

____“Merlin no! I want her to be every bit as independent as you are!”_ _ _ _

____“Then don’t think for a second that it’s okay to talk like that.”_ _ _ _

____Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Draco look his way. When he met his lover’s gaze they shared a look of suppressed giggles and fondness for their two ridiculous friends. As Hermione and Ron continued bickering, Harry thought that it really wouldn’t be a family get-together if someone didn’t get in a fight of some kind. He was just glad that, for once, it wasn’t Draco and someone else— typically Ron, over Quidditch. Glad until, less than an hour later, Ron and Draco argued over quidditch._ _ _ _

____ _ _

____< >_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____Both long-retired, and with nothing better to do, Harry and Draco sat on the front porch of their little countryside cottage. Draco had a short glass of whiskey in hand as he read the evening paper, Harry had his broom collection at his feet and polish and a rag in his hands. It wasn’t how they used to celebrate their anniversary— if you could call it that; they weren’t married and never had decided to wed, but after being together eighty nine years they figured they might as well call it an anniversary— but they were no longer the young, spry wizards they had once been. Harry was much too old to be flying these antique brooms, but he’d be damned if he’d let them lose their shine. Draco was too nearsighted to read without glasses, but he’d be damned if he’d go and get his eyes examined. So, rather than hit a nightclub or a reserved five star restaurant, they sat and enjoyed the quiet of the country, the sounds of birds chirping and the many different mating calls of the indigenous animals. It was a tranquil way to end their weekend before heading back home, where their children would berate them for vacationing alone at their ages. At one-hundred-seven years old, Harry had to admit they were ‘getting up there,’ as they say, but he couldn’t see why it was such a terrible idea to stay three nights at a secluded cottage away from it all. The children simply worried too much._ _ _ _

____Suddenly, breaking the silence, Draco folded up the paper with more speed than his age would suggest he had. “That’s it,” he said, tossing the print to the wood floor._ _ _ _

____“What’s it?” Harry asked lazily, not looking up from polishing his broom handle. He only had three left to polish, he wasn’t about to break his concentration now._ _ _ _

____“I’ve been thinking all day that I should say something sappy and heartfelt, and I’ve been struggling to come up with anything. I’m sick of trying. I shouldn’t have to fret like this, it’s bad for my heart,” Draco griped. “So, I’m sorry, but you’re not getting anything from me this year.” He certainly didn’t sound sorry, Harry thought as he chuckled._ _ _ _

____“After all these years do you really think I need your pathetic excuses for romance?” He looked up then, just to watch with satisfaction as Draco’s silver eyes narrowed and his lips twisted into a sneer. “I mean to say, if you didn’t love me anymore you wouldn’t still be here, would you, now that we’re old and decrepit?”_ _ _ _

____“Hmph. Speak for yourself,” he muttered, smoothing his white hair out of his face._ _ _ _

____Draco picked up the discarded paper and unfolded it. Stared at it for another moment. “Hand ‘em over,” he demanded, holding out a hand toward Harry. Without missing a beat, Harry took off his specs and placed them in Draco’s palm, smiling to himself at Draco’s everlasting stubbornness. He didn’t even bother suggesting Draco see an optometrist anymore; he knew how that would go. So he let Draco borrow his glasses to read. He didn’t really need them for polishing his brooms, so why not?_ _ _ _

____“Eighty nine years,” Draco sighed and clucked his tongue. He sounded as though he were talking to himself, but Harry knew better._ _ _ _

____“Ninety, next year.”_ _ _ _

____“That’s usually how math goes, isn’t it?” Draco scoffed. Softer, he asked, “Who’d have thought we’d make it this far?”_ _ _ _

____“Hmm,” Harry agreed. He dipped his rag in the polish again and smoothed over the intricately carved end of his broom handle, making sure to cover every divit and curve._ _ _ _

____“Honestly, you’d think we’d have gotten tired of each other by now,” Draco continued, speaking into his reading material. The edges of the paper fluttered a bit in the summer breeze, adding to the relaxed ambiance. “With our history, I mean. It’s rather amazing we could still be so… in love… no, so passionately in love for all this time.”_ _ _ _

____“Keep trying,” Harry said with a grin. It never ceased to amuse him, after so many years, watching Draco struggle to be all fluffy and sweet on their anniversary. Every year he tried, and every year he failed miserably, but it was touching to Harry all the same that Draco would bother._ _ _ _

____“I am, you twat,” Draco countered, glare in place. Then abruptly he smoothed his features out. “I mean, you wonderful being of light and love. You mysterious, sweet, sexy, old— no, not old. I mean, er, beautifully aged. Yes, you mysterious, sweet, sexy, _beautifully aged_ man.”_ _ _ _

____“How very kind.” It was sarcasm, but only half so. He loved this day for all it usually meant, but especially for moments like these. It had almost become tradition for Draco to make a fool of himself while trying to woo Harry._ _ _ _

____“You know what I’m getting at,” Draco said, exasperated. “I love you, idiot.”_ _ _ _

____“I know you do. And I love you.” He paused, then added, “spoiled brat.”_ _ _ _


End file.
